we had overtaken before. Just as before, the snow lay on the creaking wheels, some of which did not turn at all, indeed. As before, all the men were asleep under the sacking covers, and as before, the piebald horse in front, with inflated nostrils, sniffed out the road and pricked up its ears.
“There, we’ve gone round and round, and we’ve come back to the same wagons again!” said my driver in a tone of dissatisfaction. “The mail horses are good ones, and so he can drive them in this mad way; but ours will come to a dead stop if we go on like this all night.”
He cleared his throat.
“Let us turn back, sir, before we come to harm.”
“What for? Why, we shall get somewhere.”
“Get somewhere! Why, we shall spend the night on the steppe. How the snow does blow! … Lord, ’a’ mercy on us!”
Though I was surprised that the foremost driver, who had obviously lost both the road and the direction, did not attempt to look for the road, but calling merrily to his horses drove on still at full trot, I did not feel inclined now to drop behind the other sledges.
“Follow them!” I said.
My driver went on, but he drove the horses now with less eagerness than before, and he did not address another syllable to me.