The mist was thick, but only near the ground; overhead the stars shone quite brightly. Zhílin directed their course by the stars. It was cool in the mist, and easy walking, only their boots were uncomfortable, being worn out and trodden down. Zhílin took his off, threw them away, and went barefoot, jumping from stone to stone, and guiding his course by the stars. Kostílin began to lag behind.

“Walk slower,” he said, “these confounded boots have quite blistered my feet.”

“Take them off!” said Zhílin. “It will be easier walking without them.”

Kostílin went barefoot, but got on still worse. The stones cut his feet, and he kept lagging behind. Zhílin said: “If your feet get cut, they’ll heal again; but if the Tartars catch us and kill us, it will be worse!”

Kostílin did not reply, but went on, groaning all the time.