“But by the straight road, when once we get through the hollow by the forest, it’s good going—sheltered,” said Vasíli Andréevich, who wished to go the nearest way.
“Just as you please,” said Nikíta, and again let go of his collar.
Vasíli Andréevich did as he had said, and having gone about half a verst came to a tall oak stake which had a few dry leaves still dangling on it, and there he turned to the left.
On turning they faced directly against the wind, and snow was beginning to fall. Vasíli Andréevich, who was driving, inflated his cheeks, blowing the breath out through his moustache. Nikíta dozed.
So they went on in silence for about ten minutes. Suddenly Vasíli Andréevich began saying something.
“Eh, what?” asked Nikíta, opening his eyes.
Vasíli Andréevich did not answer, but bent over, looking behind them and then ahead of the horse. The sweat had curled Mukhórty’s coat between his legs and on his neck. He went at a walk.
“What is it?” Nikíta asked again.
“What is it? What is it?” Vasíli Andréevich mimicked him angrily. “There are no stakes to be seen! We must have got off the road!”
“Well, pull up then, and I’ll look for it,” said Nikíta, and jumping down lightly from the sledge and taking the whip from under the straw, he went off to the left from his own side of the sledge.
The snow was not deep that year, so that it was possible to walk anywhere, but still in places it was knee-deep and got into Nikíta’s boots. He went about feeling the ground with his feet and the whip, but could not find the road anywhere.