He bathed himself in the cool refreshing waters of the Saffat river, and after praying to an ancient picture, he looked around him and beheld, beyond the river of Saffat, a white canvas tent, in which lived the wicked Mussulman. Dobrenin saddled his coal-black steed with a costly Circassian saddle; he took his lance and sword, and mounted his charger's back. On rode Dobrenin, his horse neighing and prancing beneath him, until he at last reached the Mussulman's tent; he stopped and called out in a loud voice,—
"Come out of the tent, thou Tartar, thou wicked Mussulman thief! Come forward, and fight with me!"
The Mussulman, as soon as he beard these words, arose; and coming out of his white tent, mounted his noble horse and rode out to meet Dobrenin.
No winds blew, no clouds were seen, nothing but the flash of the bold champions' swords was visible. They fought and fought until their sharp lances broke, and their steel swords snapped asunder.
Then the warriors dismounted from their chargers, and continued the combat with their bare fists. Suddenly Dobrenin's foot slipped, his right hand trembled, and he fell down upon the damp ground. No sooner had he fallen than the Mussulman sprang upon him and killed him.
Up rose Aleyosha Papovitch, and leaving his companions fast asleep, went out to the Saffat river, and bathed himself in the cool, refreshing waters; and after praying to an ancient picture, he looked around him, and beheld Dobrenin's horse standing saddled and ready for riding, but looking
