They went on. The Great Bear was already setting. It was near morning, and they did not know whether they were going the right way or not. Zhílin thought it was the way he had been brought by the Tartars, and that they were still some seven miles from the Russian fort; but he had nothing certain to go by, and at night one easily mistakes the way. After a time they came to a clearing. Kostílin sat down and said: “Do as you like, I can go no farther! My feet won’t carry me.”

Zhílin tried to persuade him.

“No, I shall never get there; I can’t!”

Zhílin grew angry, and spoke roughly to him.

“Well, then, I shall go on alone. Goodbye!”

Kostílin jumped up and followed. They went another three miles. The mist in the wood had settled down still more densely; they could not see a yard before them, and the stars had grown dim.