LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter 3

      IVAN MORE AND MORE TROUBLESOME. — BULGER WATCHES HIM CLOSELY. — HIS COWARDLY ATTACK UPON ME. — MY FAITHFUL BULGER TO THE RESCUE. — A DRIVER WORTH HAVING. — HOW I WAS CARRIED TO A PLACE OF SAFETY. — IN THE HANDS OF OLD YULIANA. — THE GIANTS’ WELL.

      When we halted for the night it was only by threatening the man with severe punishment upon my return to Ilitch that I could bring him to rub his horses dry and feed and water them properly; but I stood over him until he had done his work thoroughly, for I knew that no such horses could be had for love or money in that country, and if they should go lame from standing with wet coats in the chill night air, it might mean a week’s delay.

      Scarcely had I thrown myself on the hard mattress which the tavern-keeper called the best bed in the house, when I was aroused by loud and boisterous talking in the next room. Ivan was drinking and quarrelling with the villagers. I strode into the room with the arrows of indignation shooting from my eyes, and the faithful Bulger close at my heels.

      The moment Ivan set eyes upon us he shrank away, half in earnest and half in jest, and called out,—

      “Hey, look at the mazuntchick! [Little Dandy!] How smart he looks! He frightens me! See his eyes, how they shine in the dark! Look at the little demon on four legs beside him! Save me, brothers! Save me — he will throw me down into the Giants’ Well! Marianka will never see me again! Never! Save me, brothers!”

      “Peace, fellow,” I called out sternly. “How darest thou exercise thy dull wit on thy master? Get thee to bed at once, or I’ll have thee whipped by the village constable for thy drunkenness.”

      Ivan clambered up upon the top of the bake oven, and stretched himself out on a sheepskin; then turning to the tavern-keeper, I forbade him under any pretext whatever to give my servant any more liquor to drink. “Akh, Vasha prevoskhoditelstvo [Ah, your Excellency!]” exclaimed the tavern-keeper with a gesture of disgust, “the fools never know when they have had enough. It matters not what the tavern-keeper may say to them. They tell us not to spoil our own trade. Akh! [Ah!] they don’t know when to stop. They have throats as deep as the ‘Giants’ Well!’”

      “The Giants’ Well! The Giants’ Well!” I murmured to myself, as I again threw myself down upon the bag of hay which did service as a mattress for those who could afford to pay for it. It’s strange how those words seem to be in every peasant’s mouth, but I thought no more about it at that time. Sleep got the better of me, and with my usual good-night to the elder baron and the gracious baroness, my mother, I dropped off into sweet forgetfulness.

      It is a good thing that I had the power of falling asleep almost at will, for with my restless brain ever throbbing and pulsating with its own over-abundance of strength, ever tapping at the thin panels of bone which covered it, like an imprisoned inventor pounding on his cell door and pleading to be let out into the daylight with his plans and schemes, I should simply have become a lunatic.

      As it was, with the mere power of thought I ordered sweet slumber to come to my rescue, and so obedient was this good angel of mine, that all I had to do was simply to set the time when I wished to awaken, and the thing was done to the very minute.

      As for Bulger, I never pretended to lay down any rules for him. He made it a practice of catching forty winks when he was persuaded that no danger of any kind threatened me, and even then, I am half inclined to believe that, like an anxious mother over her babe, he never quite closed both eyes at once.

      Though entirely sobered by daybreak, yet Ivan went about the task of harnessing up with such an ill grace that I was obliged to reprove him several times before we had left the tavern yard. He was like a vicious but cowardly animal that quails before a strong and steady eye, but watches its opportunity to spring upon you when your back is turned.

      I not only called Bulger’s attention to the fellow’s actions, and warned him to be very watchful, but I also took the precaution to examine the priming of the brace of Spanish pistols which I carried thrust into my belt.

      We had scarcely pulled out into the highway when a low growl from Bulger aroused me from a fit of meditation; and this growl was followed by such an anxious whine from my four-footed brother, as he raised his speaking eyes to me, that I glanced hastily from one side of the road to the other.

      Lo and behold! the treacherous Ivan was deliberately engaged in an attempt to overturn the tarantass and to get rid of his enforced task of transporting us any farther on our journey.

      “Wretch!” I cried, springing up and laying my hand on his shoulder. “I perceive very plainly what thou hast in mind, but I warn thee most solemnly that if thou makest another attempt to overturn thy wagon, I’ll slay thee where thou sittest.”

      For only answer and with a lightning-like quickness he struck a back-hand blow at me with the loaded end of his whipstock.

      It took me full in the right temple, and sent me to the bottom of the tarantass like a piece of lead.

      For an instant the terrible blow robbed me of my senses, but then I saw that the cowardly villain had turned in his seat and had swung the heavy handled whip aloft with intent to despatch me with a second and a surer blow.

      Poor fool! he reckoned without his host; for with a shriek of rage, Bulger leaped at his throat like a stone from a catapult, and struck his teeth deep into the fellow’s flesh.

      He roared with agony and attempted to shake off this unexpected foe, but in vain.

      By this time I had come to a full realizing sense of the terrible danger Bulger and I were both in, for Ivan had dropped his whip and was reaching for his sheath-knife.

      But he never gripped it, for a well-aimed

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