One plunge, another, and a third, and at last Mukhórty was out of the snowdrift, and stood still, breathing heavily and shaking the snow off himself. Nikíta wished to lead him farther, but Vasíli Andréevich, in his two fur coats, was so out of breath that he could not walk farther and dropped into the sledge.

“Let me get my breath!” he said, unfastening the kerchief with which he had tied the collar of his fur coat at the village.

“It’s all right here. You lie there,” said Nikíta. “I will lead him along.” And with Vasíli Andréevich in the sledge he led the horse by the bridle about ten paces down and then up a slight rise, and stopped.