willingly entered into conversation and asked for a cigarette. “There were five brothers,” began the scout in his broken Russian. “This is the third brother the Russians have killed, only two are left. He is a brave, a great brave!” he said, pointing to the Chéchen. “When they killed Ahmet Khan (the dead brave) this one was sitting on the opposite bank among the reeds. He saw it all. Saw him laid in the skiff and brought to the bank. He sat there till the night and wished to kill the old man, but the others would not let him.” Lukáshka went up to the speaker, and sat down. “Of what village?” asked he. “From there in the hills,” replied the scout, pointing to the misty bluish gorge beyond the Térek. “Do you know Suuk-su? It is about eight miles beyond that.” “Do you know Giréy Khan in Suuk-su?” asked Lukáshka, evidently proud of the acquaintance. “He is my _kunak_.” “He is my neighbour,” answered the scout. “He’s a trump!” and Lukáshka, evidently much interested, began talking to the scout in Tartar. Presently a Cossack captain, with the head of the village, arrived on horseback with a suite of two Cossacks. The captain—one of the new type of Cossack officers—wished the Cossacks “Good health,” but no one shouted in reply, “Hail! Good health to your honour,” as is customary in the Russian Army, and only a few replied with a bow. Some, and among them Lukáshka, rose and stood erect. The corporal replied that all was well at the outposts. All this seemed ridiculous: it was as if these Cossacks were playing at being soldiers. But these formalities soon gave place to ordinary ways of behaviour, and the captain, who was a smart Cossack just like the others, began speaking fluently in Tartar to the interpreter. They filled in some document, gave it to the scout, and received from him some money. Then they approached the body. “Which of you is Luke Gavrílov?” asked the captain. Lukáshka took off his cap and came forward. “I have reported your exploit to the Commander. I don’t know what will come of it. I have recommended you for a cross; you’re too young to be made a sergeant. Can you read?” “I can’t.” “But what a fine fellow to look at!” said the captain, again playing the commander. “Put on your cap. Which of the Gavrílovs does he come of? ... the Broad, eh?” “His nephew,” replied the corporal. “I know, I know. Well, lend a hand, help them,” he said, turning to the Cossacks. Lukáshka’s face shone with joy and seemed handsomer than usual. He moved away from the corporal, and having put on his cap sat down beside Olénin.