“And A. too, lads, he is a cute one, oh, he is a cute one!”
“Rather! He could turn even Kulikov round his finger! You won’t catch him!”
“I wonder whether they’ve got far by now, lads? I should like to know.”
At once there followed a discussion of whether they had gone far, and in what direction they had gone, and where it would have been best for them to go, and which district was nearer. There were people who knew the surrounding country; they were listened to with interest. They talked of the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages and decided that they were not people to rely upon. They were too near a town to be simple. They wouldn’t help a convict, they’d catch him and hand him over.
“The peasants hereabouts are a spiteful set, mates, that they are!”
“There’s no depending on them!”
“They’re Siberians, the beggars. If they come across you, they’ll kill you.”
“Well, but our fellows . . .”
“To be sure there’s no saying which will get the best of it. Our men are not easy customers either.”
“Well, we shall hear if we live long enough.”
“Why, do you think they’ll catch them?”
“I don’t believe they’ll ever catch them!” another of the enthusiasts pronounces, banging the table with his fist.
“H’m! That’s all a matter of luck.”
“And I tell you what I think, lads,” Skuratov breaks in, “if I were a tramp, they’d never catch me.”
“You!”
There is laughter, though some pretend not to want to listen. But there is no stopping Skuratov.
“Not if I know it!” he goes on vigorously. “I often think about it and wonder at myself, lads. I believe I’d creep through any chink before they catch me.”
“No fear! You’d get hungry and go to a peasant for bread.”
General laughter.
“For bread? Nonsense!”
“But why are you wagging your tongue? Uncle Vasya and you killed the cow plague[1]. That’s why you came here.”
- ↑ That is, killed a man or woman, suspecting that he or she had put a spell on the cattle, causing their death. We had one such murderer amongst us.
