"That evening Kazbich was gloomier than I had ever seen him, and I noticed that he had a coat of mail under his shirt. 'There must be a reason for the armor,' thought I. 'He is evidently plotting

"It was stuffy indoors, so I stepped out into the fresh air. The night was settling on the hills and the mist was beginning to weave in and out among the gorges.

"It occurred to me to look into the shelter where our horses stood and see whether they were being fed, and besides, caution never hurt anything. After all, I had a fine horse and a good many Kabardians had cast fond glances at him and said: 'Yakshi tkhe, chek yakshi!' [Good horse, excellent!]

"I was picking my way along the fence when suddenly I heard voices. One of the speakers I recognized right away: it was that good-for-nothing Azamat, our host's son. The other spoke more slowly and quietly. 'I wonder what they're up to,' thought I. 'I hope it's not about my horse.' I dropped down behind the fence and cocked my ears, trying not to miss a word. It was impossible to hear everything, for now and then the singing and the hum of voices from the hut drowned out the conversation I was so interested to hear.

"'That's a fine horse you have,' Azamat was saying. 'Were I the master of my house and the owner of a herd of three hundred mares, I'd give half of them for your horse, Kazbich!'

"'So it's Kazbich,' I thought and remembered the coat of mail.

"'You're right,' Kazbich replied after a momentary silence, 'you won't find another like him in all Kabarda. Once, beyond the Terek it was, I rode with the guerrillas

"You could hear the man patting the smooth neck of the horse and whispering to him all kinds of pet names.