some in tarantasses. But Pakhom with his labourer went in his own tarantass. By the time they reached the steppe the red dawn was already visible. They came to a little mound, dismounted, and the Bashkirs went up to the top of it and stood there in a group. The chief came to Pakhom, and pointed with his hand.
"Behold!" said he, "as far as your eyes can reach, all is ours. Choose what you will!"
Pakhom's eyes flashed. The whole of the land was covered with plumy grass. It was as level as the palm of your hand, and as black as poppy-seed, and the ravines were marked by bush patches of divers colours breast high. The chief doffed his fox-skin cap, and set it on the top of the mound.
"That," said he, "will be the goal, put your money in it. Your labourer will stand here. This is your starting-point—hither also will you return. Whatsoever you compass shall be yours.
Pakhom took out his money, placed it in the cap, doffed his kaftan (i.e., long cloak)—his doublet was sufficient clothing—girded up his loins, tightened his belt, thrust a bit of bread into his bosom, fastened a gourd full of water to his waist, drew up the straps of his boots, and prepared to depart. He racked his brains as to which direction he should take first—everywhere the land was good.
"'Tis all one," thought he, "I'll go towards the setting of the sun." He stood with his face towards the dawn, stamping impatiently for the sun to appear above the horizon. Then he thought, "What's the good of losing so much time? I'll wait no longer, 'twill be easier going in the cool of the morning.
97
