Nikoláy neither saw nor heard Danílo until the chestnut, breathing heavily, panted past him, and he heard the fall of a body and saw Danílo lying on the wolf’s back among the dogs, trying to seize her by the ears. It was evident to the dogs, the hunters, and to the wolf herself that all was now over. The terrified wolf pressed back her ears and tried to rise, but the borzois stuck to her. Danílo rose a little, took a step, and with his whole weight, as if lying down to rest, fell on the wolf, seizing her by the ears. Nikoláy was about to stab her, but Danílo whispered, “Don’t! We’ll gag her!” and, changing his position, set his foot on the wolf’s neck. A stick was thrust between her jaws and she was fastened with a leash, as if bridled, her legs were bound together, and Danílo rolled her over once or twice from side to side.
With happy, exhausted faces, they laid the old wolf, alive, on a shying and snorting horse and, accompanied by the dogs yelping at her, took her to the place where they were all to meet. The hounds had killed two of the cubs and the borzois three. The huntsmen assembled with their booty and their stories, and all came to look at the wolf, which, with her broad-browed head hanging down and the bitten stick between her jaws, gazed with great glassy eyes at this crowd of dogs and men surrounding her. When she was touched, she jerked her bound legs and looked wildly yet simply at everybody. Count Ilyá Andréevich also rode up and touched the wolf.
“Oh, what a formidable one!” said he. “A formidable one, eh?” he asked Danílo, who was standing near.
“Yes, your excellency,” answered Danílo, quickly doffing his cap.
The count remembered the wolf he had let slip and his encounter with Danílo.
“Ah, but you are a crusty fellow, friend!” said the count.
For sole reply Danílo gave him a shy, childlike, meek, and amiable smile.