hunter notes

Chapter 28 The Lone Wolf (1)
In the evening I returned from my hunting by myself in a racing carriage.About eight versts from home.My strong-footed, tame mare galloped briskly over the dusty road, sometimes snorting and wagging her ears slightly; the tired dog followed closely behind the wheel, as if bound Like there.The storm is coming.There is a large dark cloud of lavender in front, slowly rising from behind the woods; long dark clouds are galloping over my head and flying towards me; the firecracker willows shake and rustle in panic.The suffocating heat suddenly turned into a humid cold, and the shadows quickly thickened.I yanked the horse with the rein, and ran down the valley, across a dry stream covered with willows, up the hill, and into a wood.The road twisted and twisted in front of me through dark, dense hazel groves, and my carriage plodded along.The hard roots of century-old oaks and lindens cut here and there across the deep old ruts of the carriage; the carriage skipped over them, and my horse stumbled.The wind suddenly howled in the sky, the trees roared, and large raindrops beat the leaves violently.There was a flash of lightning, thunder and lightning, and rain.My car moved forward slowly, and after a short walk, I had to stop. My horse was stuck in the mud, and it was so dark that I couldn't see anything.I managed to hide under a broad bush.I shrank, covered my face, and patiently waited for the rain to stop.Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning, and I caught a glimpse of a tall figure on the road.I just stared in this direction—the figure seemed to emerge from the ground next to my carriage.

"Who is it?" asked a loud voice. "Who are you?" "I am the forest guard here." I reported my name.

"Oh, I know! Are you going home?" "Going home. But look, such a storm..." "Yes, a storm," answered the voice.The white flashes of lightning illuminated the forest ranger from head to toe, and then there was rapid and bursting thunder.The rain doubled in intensity. "It won't stop anytime soon," the forester went on. "What should I do!" "Or, let me take you to my house." He said intermittently. "Then I will trouble you."

"Please sit down." He went to the horse's head, pulled the bridle, and pulled the horse out of the mud.The carriage started.The carriage rocked like "a canoe in the sea," and I clung to the cushions of the carriage and yelled at the dogs.My poor mare struggled through the mud, slipping and tumbling.The forester swayed to and fro in front of the shaft, like a ghost.We walked for a long time, and finally my guide stopped. "We're home, sir," he said evenly.The fence gate opened with a creak, and several puppies barked in unison.I looked up, and in the light of the lightning I saw a cottage in a spacious fenced yard.From one window came a dim firelight.The forester drew his horse to the steps and knocked on the door. "It's coming, it's coming!" came a thin voice, heard the sound of bare feet, and the door bolt was pulled out with a rattle, and an eleven or twelve-year-old boy in a worn shirt and a cloth strip tied The little girl appeared at the door with a lamp in her hand.

"Show me the way," he said to her, "and I'll put your carriage under the eaves."

The little girl glanced at me and went into the room, and I followed.

The forester's hut consisted of one low, smoky, bare room with no raised beds or partitions.A tattered leather jacket hung on the wall.There was a single-barreled gun on a bench, a pile of rags in a corner, and two large earthen jars by the stove.A pine light burns on the table, and it lights up and goes dark sadly.In the very center of the room hung a cradle from one end of a long pole.The little girl put out the lantern, sat down on a little stool, and began to rock the cradle with her right hand, and straightened the pine light with her left.I looked around--suddenly my heart became heavy, and it was very unpleasant to be in a farmhouse at night.The baby in the cradle breathed restlessly.

"Do you live here alone?" I asked the little girl. "Alone." Her voice was barely audible.

"Are you the keeper's daughter?" "The keeper's daughter," she answered in a low voice.The door creaked, and the forester stepped across the threshold with his head bowed.He picked up the lantern from the ground, went to the table, and lit it. "Perhaps you're not used to pine light?" he said, shaking his curly hair.I glanced at him.Such a strong man is hard to see.He was tall, broad-shouldered, and well-proportioned.His muscular muscles were clearly visible under the soaked linen shirt.A curly black beard half hid his stern, resolute face; small, fearless brown eyes peeped from beneath broad, well-set brows.He put his hands gently on his hips and stood in front of me.

I thanked him and asked his name. "My name is Foma," he replied, "and my nickname is Lone Wolf."

"Ah, you are a lone wolf!" I looked at him curiously.From my Yermolay and from others I have often heard talk of the forest watchman, the Lone Wolf, whom all the peasants in the neighbourhood are as afraid of as they are of fire.I heard from them that there has never been such a dedicated person in the world: "No one will take away a bunch of dead branches; if you take his, no matter what time, even in the middle of the night, he will suddenly appear on the tree. Before you, and you can't even try to resist, because he's so powerful, and as flexible as a devil... Nothing can buy him off, buy him a drink, give him money, it's useless; Tried to kill him several times, but couldn't—couldn't be done." That's what the neighboring farmers said of Lone Wolf. "So you're a lone wolf," I repeated. "I've heard people talk about you, man. I hear you'll let no one off you." "I was doing my duty," he answered darkly. "It's not okay to eat the master's food for free." He took out an ax from his waist, squatted on the ground and chopped up the pine trees. "Don't you have a wife?" I asked him. "No," he answered, swinging the ax vigorously. "Is he dead?" "No... yes... dead," he said, turning his face away.I fell silent, and he raised his eyes to look at me. "Eloped with a passing merchant." He said with a wry smile.The little girl bowed her head; the baby woke up and cried; the little girl went to the cradle. "Hey, give it to him," said the Lone Wolf, thrusting a dirty feeding bottle into the girl's hand. "Dropped him," he whispered again, pointing to the baby.He walked to the door, stopped, and turned around.

"Perhaps, sir," he said, "you don't want to eat our kind of bread, but here I have nothing but bread..."

"I'm not hungry." "Well, that's all. I should light a samovar for you, but I don't have any tea... Let me see how your horse is." He went out, slamming the door behind him .I looked around again.

It seemed to me that the house was even more forlorn than before.The bitter taste of cooling embers oppresses my breath.The little girl sat where she was, without moving or raising her eyes; she sometimes rocked the cradle a few times, and shyly pulled the slipped blouse over her shoulders; her bare feet hung motionless.

"What's your name?" I asked. "Ulita," she said, her sad little face drooping even lower.The forester came in and sat down on the bench. "The storm is almost over," he said after a moment's silence, "and if you want to go back, I'll take you out of the woods." I got up.Lone Wolf took his gun and checked the powder well. "What are you doing with this?" I asked. "Someone's doing tricks in the woods . . . and there's stealing trees over there in Stable Valley."

(End of this chapter)