“It’s hard to strip a living man, but a dead one, that’s plain sailing.”

And suddenly Salakin, who was on his knees, swayed and fell heavily across Vanyushka’s feet. The latter shuddered as though he had suddenly been plunged into cold water, screamed, and started pushing his comrade away, while the horse, frightened by the outcry, bolted.

“It’s nothing, nothing,” Salakin mumbled, groping for Vanyushka. His face turned blue, his eyes grew dull.

“He hit me between the shoulder-blades. I have a pain in my heart.…It’ll pass.”

“Yeremey,” said Vanyushka in a trembling voice, “let’s go back, for Christ’s sake!”

“Where?”

“To the city! I’m scared.”

“To the city, no! We’ll first sell the horse, and then we’ll go on, to Matvey’s.”

“I’m scared,” said Vanyushka mournfully.

“What of?”

“We’re done for, brother. What’s going to happen now? Was this what we were after?”

“Go to the devil!” shouted Salakin, and his eyes flashed angrily. “Done for! What do you mean, done for? Are we the only ones who ever killed man? Is this the first time this happened on earth?”

“Don’t be angry,” begged Vanyushka in a tearful voice, noticing that his comrade’s face again wore a desperate, drunken look.

“How can I help getting angry!” exclaimed Salakin indignantly. “Here this thing has happened…”

“Wait! What are we doing?” Vanyushka spoke up forcibly, shuddering violently and looking around him in fear. “Where are we taking him? We’ll soon get to Vishenki, and think of the load we are carrying!”

“Whoa, you devil!” Salakin shouted at the horse, and swiftly and lightly as a ball he jumped out of the sledge onto the road.

“You’re right, brother,” he muttered, seizing the charcoal-burner’s right hand. “Take him, drag him, get hold of his legs! Pull him out!”

Vanyushka, trying not to look at the face of the corpse, lifted it by the legs and did catch a glimpse of something blue, round, and terrible where the charcoal-burner’s face should have been.

“Dig a pit!” commanded Salakin, and jumped about in the yielding snow, shoving it to either side with quick vigorous movements of his feet. He did it in such a curious fashion that Vanyushka, dropping the body of the charcoal-burner on the snow, stood over it and watched his comrade without helping him.

“Bury him, bury him!” Salakin was saying, swiftly and diligently covering the murdered man’s head and chest with snow. The comrades were working two paces away from the sledge, and the horse, turning its head, looked at them with one eye, and was as motionless as though it were petrified.

“We’re done. Let’s go.”

“It’s no good,” objected Vanyushka.