Chapter 9

Having stumbled back to the sledge Vasili Andreevich caught hold of it
and for a long time stood motionless, trying to calm himself and recover
his breath. Nikita was not in his former place, but something, already
covered with snow, was lying in the sledge and Vasili Andreevich
concluded that this was Nikita. His terror had now quite left him, and
if he felt any fear it was lest the dreadful terror should return that
he had experienced when on the horse and especially when he was left
alone in the snow-drift. At any cost he had to avoid that terror, and
to keep it away he must do something--occupy himself with something. And
the first thing he did was to turn his back to the wind and open his fur
coat. Then, as soon as he recovered his breath a little, he shook the
snow out of his boots and out of his left-hand glove (the right-hand
glove was hopelessly lost and by this time probably lying somewhere
under a dozen inches of snow); then as was his custom when going out of
his shop to buy grain from the peasants, he pulled his girdle low down
and tightened it and prepared for action. The first thing that occurred
to him was to free Mukhorty's leg from the rein. Having done that, and
tethered him to the iron cramp at the front of the sledge where he
had been before, he was going round the horse's quarters to put the
breechband and pad straight and cover him with the cloth, but at that
moment he noticed that something was moving in the sledge and Nikita's
head rose up out of the snow that covered it. Nikita, who was half
frozen, rose with great difficulty and sat up, moving his hand before
his nose in a strange manner just as if he were driving away flies. He
waved his hand and said something, and seemed to Vasili Andreevich to be
calling him. Vasili Andreevich left the cloth unadjusted and went up to
the sledge.

'What is it?' he asked. 'What are you saying?'

'I'm dy . . . ing, that's what,' said Nikita brokenly and with
difficulty. 'Give what is owing to me to my lad, or to my wife, no
matter.'

'Why, are you really frozen?' asked Vasili Andreevich.

'I feel it's my death. Forgive me for Christ's sake . . .' said Nikita
in a tearful voice, continuing to wave his hand before his face as if
driving away flies.

Vasili Andreevich stood silent and motionless for half a minute. Then
suddenly, with the same resolution with which he used to strike hands
when making a good purchase, he took a step back and turning up his
sleeves began raking the snow off Nikita and out of the sledge. Having
done this he hurriedly undid his girdle, opened out his fur coat, and
having pushed Nikita down, lay down on top of him, covering him not
only with his fur coat but with the whole of his body, which glowed