seconds near Nikíta’s shoulder and then began to fall behind.
“Just see what liquor does!” said Nikíta. “They’ve tired that little horse to death. What pagans!”
For a few minutes they heard the panting of the tired little horse and the drunken shouting of the peasants. Then the panting and the shouts died away, and around them nothing could be heard but the whistling of the wind in their ears and now and then the squeak of their sledge-runners over a windswept part of the road.
This encounter cheered and enlivened Vasíli Andréevich, and he drove on more boldly without examining the way-marks, urging on the horse and trusting to him.
Nikíta had nothing to do, and as usual in such circumstances he drowsed, making up for much sleepless time. Suddenly the horse stopped and Nikíta nearly fell forward onto his nose.
“You know we’re off the track again!” said Vasíli Andréevich.
“How’s that?”
“Why, there are no way-marks to be seen. We must have got off the road again.”
“Well, if we’ve lost the road we must find it,” said Nikíta curtly, and getting out and stepping lightly on his pigeon-toed feet he started once more going about on the snow.
He walked about for a long time, now disappearing and now reappearing, and finally he came back.
“There is no road here. There may be farther on,” he said, getting into the sledge.