When I left the Caucasus, they were still fighting there, and in the night it was dangerous to travel without a guard.
I wanted to leave as early as possible, and so did not lie down to sleep.
My friend came to see me off, and we sat the whole evening and night in the village street, in front of my cabin.
It was a moonlit night with a mist, and so bright that one could read, though the moon was not to be seen.
In the middle of the night we suddenly heard a pig squealing in the yard across the street. One of us cried: “A wolf is choking the pig!”
I ran into the house, grasped a loaded gun, and ran into the street. They were all standing at the gate of the yard where the pig was squealing, and cried to me: “Here!” Milton rushed after me—no doubt he thought that I was going out to hunt with the gun; but Búlka pricked his short ears, and tossed from side to side, as though to ask me whom he was to clutch. When I ran up to the wicker fence, I saw a beast running straight toward me from the other side of the yard. That was the wolf. He ran up to the fence and jumped on it. I stepped aside and fixed my gun. The moment the wolf jumped down from the fence to my side, I aimed, almost touching him with the gun, and pulled the trigger; but my gun made “Click” and did not go off. The Wolf did not stop, but ran across the street.
Milton and Búlka made for him. Milton was near to the wolf, but was afraid to take hold of him; and no matter how fast Búlka ran on his short legs, he could not keep up with him. We ran as fast as we could after the