At first the horse held back, then he jerked forward, hoping to leap the drift, but he had not the strength and sank into it up to his collar. ‘Get out!’ Nikita called to Vasili Andreevich who still sat in the sledge, and taking hold of one shaft he moved the sledge closer to the horse. ‘It’s hard, brother!’ he said to Mukhorty, ‘but it can’t be helped. Make an effort! Now, now, just a little one!’ he shouted. The horse gave a tug, then another, but failed to clear himself and settled down again as if considering something. ‘Now, brother, this won’t do!’ Nikita admonished him. ‘Now once more!’ Again Nikita tugged at the shaft on his side, and Vasili Andreevich did the same on the other. Mukhorty lifted his head and then gave a sudden jerk. ‘That’s it! That’s it!’ cried Nikita. ‘Don’t be afraid--you won’t sink!’ One plunge, another, and a third, and at last Mukhorty was out of the snow-drift, and stood still, breathing heavily and shaking the snow off himself. Nikita wished to lead him farther, but Vasili Andreevich, in his two fur coats, was so out of breath that he could not walk farther and dropped into the sledge. ‘Let me get my breath!’ he said, unfastening the kerchief with which he had tied the collar of his fur coat at the village. ‘It’s all right here. You lie there,’ said Nikita. ‘I will lead him along.’ And with Vasili Andreevich in the sledge he led the horse by the bridle about ten paces down and then up a slight rise, and stopped. The place where Nikita had stopped was not completely in the hollow where the snow sweeping down from the hillocks might have buried them altogether, but still it was partly sheltered from the wind by the side of the ravine. There were moments when the wind seemed to abate a little, but that did not last long and as if to make up for that respite the storm swept down with tenfold vigour and tore and whirled the more fiercely. Such a gust struck them at the moment when Vasili Andreevich, having recovered his breath, got out of the sledge and went up to Nikita to consult him as to what they should do. They both bent down involuntarily and waited till the violence of the squall should have passed. Mukhorty too laid back his ears and shook his head discontentedly. As soon as the violence of the blast had abated a little, Nikita took off his mittens, stuck them into his belt, breathed onto his hands, and began to undo the straps of the shaft-bow. ‘What’s that you are doing there?’ asked Vasili Andreevich. ‘Unharnessing. What else is there to do? I have no strength left,’ said Nikita as though excusing himself. ‘Can’t we drive somewhere?’