Finally some one did turn to my father with, "Is he quite dead?" As if in answer, Mikhailov just then made a faint movement with a finger of his left hand. It seemed to me that he was trying to signify something by this, especially as it was followed by a slight moan or two. Then again there was silence. Here some of the men began to talk, wondering how he could have made so great a blunder. My father stopped them. "It's time to do something," he said, and beckoning to two others to help him, tried to raise the wounded man into a more comfortable position. Mikhailov groaned faintly. "Better let him die without hurting him," interjected my uncle, turning his head away. "But look!" quickly exclaimed an intelligent-looking young man. "His face isn't injured at all. Only his neck is torn. He might live long enough to take the sacrament at least, and even, perhaps, make his last will." Four of the men again raised Mikhailov, my father supporting his head, and placed him on a saddle blanket that had been stretched out on the snow. Meanwhile Daria's horses had been caught and she had driven up. As soon as sufficiently near, she slipped down from her sleigh and tottered toward the wounded man. Blood was still dripping from the neck. "Fools!" she exclaimed, looking indignantly at the men. "It's lucky the blood has partially clogged or he would have bled to death before your eyes." Then turning to one of the Cossacks she added: "Your blouse looks clean. Give it to me." Without a word the man took it off and handed it to her. Paying no attention to the bits of advice that now began to be given, such as "Put some tobacco on the torn place," "Powder is the best thing," she tore the shirt into pieces and began to bandage the wound. I watched her quick, sure movements with a constantly growing admiration, my former liking for her changing to a sort of reverent love. When she had finished and stretched herself with difficulty, I found that the men had not been idle. Dried twigs had been spread in the sleigh and these covered with several horse-blankets, the whole forming a comfortable bed. The quickness with which it had been made showed that the Cossacks were used to needing it. Several Cossacks now lifted the wounded man on to the sleigh with as great care and skill as that possessed by the best trained nurses. They then helped Daria to an especially prepared place by his side. My uncle took the driver's seat, and I, without waiting for invitation or permission, jumped up next to him. Slowly we drove off. I looked back once or twice to see what those left behind were doing. Some of them hung the tiger to a strong tree, the skin having already been loosened from his legs. Then they carefully cut the thin under skin with their hunting knives and gradually pulled it off from the tail down.