I looked at him. Rarely has it been my fortune to behold such a fine, dashing fellow. He was tall of stature, broad-shouldered, and splendidly built. From beneath his dripping shirt, which was open on the breast, his mighty muscles stood prominently forth. A curly black beard covered half of his surly and manly face; from beneath his broad eyebrows, which met over his nose, small, brown eyes gazed bravely forth. He set his hands lightly on his hips, and stood before me. I thanked him, and asked his name. "My name is Foma," he replied--"but my nickname is 'The Wolf'."[24] "Ah, are you The Wolf?" I gazed at him with redoubled curiosity. From my Ermolai and from others I had often heard about the forester, The Wolf, whom all the peasants round about feared like fire. According to their statements, never before had there existed in the world such a master of his business. "He gives no one a chance to carry off trusses of brushwood, no matter what the hour may be; even at midnight, he drops down like snow on one's head, and you need not think of offering resistance--he's as strong and as crafty as the Devil.... And it's impossible to catch him by any means; neither with liquor nor with money; he won't yield to any allurement. More than once good men have made preparations to put him out of the world, but no, he doesn't give them a chance." That was the way the neighboring peasants expressed themselves about The Wolf. "So thou art The Wolf," I repeated. "I've heard of you, brother. They say that thou givest no quarter to any one." "I perform my duty," he replied, surlily; "it is not right to eat the master's bread for nothing." He pulled his axe from his girdle, sat down on the floor, and began to chop a pine-knot. "Hast thou no housewife?" I asked him. "No," he replied, and brandished his axe fiercely. "She is dead, apparently." "No--yes--she is dead," he added, and turned away. I said nothing; he raised his eyes and looked at me. "She ran away with a petty burgher who came along," he remarked, with a harsh smile. The little girl dropped her eyes; the baby waked up and began to cry; the girl went to the cradle. "There, give it to him," said The Wolf, thrusting into her hand a soiled horn.[25] "And she abandoned him," he went on, in a low tone, pointing at the baby. He went to the door, paused, and turned round. "Probably, master," he began, "you cannot eat our bread; and I have nothing but bread." "I am not hungry." "Well, suit yourself. I would boil the samovar for you, only I have no tea.... I'll go and see how your horse is."