Even he who hears these three words for the first time is aware of the menace in them and makes room for Artyom, as he gazes with fear and surprise at the powerful figure of the handsome youth.

Artyom comes across a loafer of his acquaintance. They greet one another, and Artyom squeezes the hand of his friend in such fashion that the latter cries out in pain and swears at him. Then Artyom grips his shoulder with fingers of iron, or invents some other way of hurting him, and looks quietly at the man as, half suffocated, he shrieks and groans in the enemy’s grasp, and with stifled voice cries:

“Let me go, you cursed hangman!”

But the hangman is as inexorable as a judge.

Cain had often fallen into the rough hands of the giant, who played with him as an inquisitive child might play with a beetle.

This particular and inexplicable mode of behavior on the part of the athlete was known in Shikhan as “Artyom’s sortie.” It earned him many enemies, but in spite of their efforts, they could not break his superhuman strength.

Thus, on one occasion seven husky fellows, with the approval of the whole neighborhood, agreed to give Artyom a lesson which would keep him quiet for a while.

Two of the number paid dearly for the affair; the others came off lightly. On another occasion some shopkeepers, injured husbands, hired a butcher from the town, known to have come off victorious several times in matches with circus athletes. The butcher, in return for a large reward, undertook to beat up Artyom within an inch of his life. The two men were confronted, and Artyom, who was always ready to fight “for the pleasure of it,” dislocated the butcher’s arm, and dealt him such a blow under the heart that the butcher fell unconscious to the ground. These deeds of prowess, while they increased Artyom’s prestige, naturally added to the number of his enemies. He continued his “sorties” as before, crushing all and everything in his path. What feelings did he thus express? Did the native of the woods and fields, torn from his natural environment, seek thus perhaps to revenge himself on the town and its manner of life? Perhaps he had some dim consciousness that the town was gradually working his destruction, that body and soul were being inoculated with its poison, and with this feeling he fought, as his nature prompted him, against the deadly forces that were enslaving him. His “sorties” came to an end sometimes at the police station, where he was treated better than the other inhabitants of Shikhan; the police were astonished at his fabulous strength and drew amusement from it; they knew he was no thief—he was not clever enough for that. It happened more often, however, that his “sortie” being over, he turned into some low dive, and was there taken under the wing of one of his lady-loves. He fell into moody fits after these exploits. A certain look of wildness came into his eyes, and the immobility of his face gave him the appearance of an idiot. Then one of the shopkeepers, soaked with grease to her marrow, a robust female of the age celebrated by Balzac, would assume airs of proprietorship over this untamed beast, and take him under her care, not without a certain feeling of fear.

“Shall I ask for another two glasses of beer, Artyusha? or a liqueur? And won’t you eat something? You are not up to the mark today.”

“Leave me alone,” Artyom would answer in a thick voice. For a few minutes she would stop fussing over him and then again start plying him with drinks, for she knew that when sober he was miserly with his caresses.

And now, it pleased fate, which is fond of playing tricks, to bring Cain and Artyom together.

This is how it came to pass.