Boris the Bear-Hunter, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.BORIS CHANGES MASTERS.

  Boris, when he returned to the village that same afternoon, enjoyed averitable triumph at the hands of his delighted fellows. He was honestenough to confess his indebtedness to the stranger, but this did notmake the slightest difference in the gratitude of the peasants; andindeed the service which Boris had rendered them, in thus riddingthem of an infliction worse than the most terrible blight, was noslight one. A large bear, when so disposed, and when allowed to workhis wicked will upon the corn-fields of a village, will very speedilyeither consume or trample into hay the entire grain wealth of thecommunity; so that the gratitude of the peasants was proportionate totheir clear gain in the death of one of the two monster pests which hadcome, like a scourge upon the village, to devour the fatness thereof.

  Boris was carried shoulder-high through the one street of the place;while the carcass of the dead robber, slung by his four legs to a pole,was borne behind, escorted by a booing, yelling crowd of women andchildren. A bonfire was lighted at night in honour of the hunter andhis achievement, when portions of the bear were cooked and eaten, moreas an expression of contempt for the late owner of the flesh than forlove of the food. Most of the carcass was given to the dogs, however,and they, at least, were delighted with the feast.

  Boris was well feasted with _vodka_ and with other delicaciesequally bad for him; but being a sensible youth and steady withal,he did not retire at night in the degraded condition of most of hisfellow-villagers. He was elated, no doubt, not by the fumes of thespirits, however, but by the sense of triumph; yet the more he ponderedover his fight and victory, the more clearly did he realize hisindebtedness to the timely aid of the strong young giant who had cometo his assistance. As he lay and dozed, half conscious, through the hothours of the summer night, Boris weaved the adventure of the day intoa thousand fantastic shapes, in all of which, however, the strangerplayed an important part: sometimes he was his own patron saint; thenhe was a benevolent _lieshui_, or wood-spirit, a class of beings fullybelieved in by the peasants, but, according to popular tradition, morelikely to take the part of the bear than of Boris in a fight betweenthe two. In a word, the stranger assumed so many various shapes in thehunter's overwrought brain at night, that when day came Boris was by nomeans certain whether the stranger had in reality existed at all, andwas inclined to fancy that the whole thing had been a dream as he layand slept after the death of the bear, which he had slain single-handed.

  Half hoping that this might prove to be the case--for the idea thathe had almost been worsted by a bear, however huge, was an unwelcomethought to so renowned a hunter--Boris determined, nevertheless, thathe would at least journey as far as the town, which was but a mile ortwo distant, in order to learn for himself whether there indeed existeda young giant of the name of Petka.

  Boris set out at the appointed hour for Archangel and the house ofthe burgomaster. The house was easily found, for it was the principalbuilding of the place, and was so grand, indeed, to look upon thatBoris scarcely liked his mission. What if the whole thing should havebeen a dream? Why, what a fool he would appear, coming to this grandplace and inquiring for some one who did not exist; all these serfs anddressed-up people about the front door would laugh at him, and tellhim to go home and drink less vodka the next time he killed a bear.However, Boris reflected, if any one should laugh at him, laugherswere easily knocked down. He was as good a man, and perhaps a triflebetter, than any of these embroidered chaps. Let them laugh if theyliked; their mirth might cost them a little of their embroidery! SoBoris pulled himself together, and marched up to the porch of the bigwooden structure which had been pointed out to him as the house of theburgomaster. A stately doorkeeper, dressed, in spite of the warmth ofthe season, in a gold-laced kaftan and a high fur cap, listened tothe young peasant's inquiry with some bewilderment. Was there any oneliving there of the name of Petka? Boris had asked,--a young fellowabout his own age? Boris believed he was a barin, but could not besure; he gave this address.

  "Petka?" repeated the astonished porter. "What do you mean? Petka who?What's his family name?"

  "I only know he called himself Petka; he said sometimes he was knownas Petrushka," said Boris, beginning to feel assured that he was thevictim of a dream. "He was a tall, well-set-up sort of a fellow," hecontinued, "as big as I am, or bigger. Come now; is he here, or is henot? I warn you I am not a man to annoy; I am Boris the Bear-Hunter."

  It was not meant as an idle boast. Had the doorkeeper been a nativeof the town he would have known well enough who the bearer of thisname was; but it so happened that this man was a new arrival fromMoscow, whence he had come with the retinue of his master the Tsar, andtherefore the title meant nothing to him, but savoured only of boastingand the conceit of local celebrity.

  "Well," he said, "you can go home again and hunt your bears at leisure;there's no Petka, nor yet Petrushka, here. As for annoying you, I knownothing about that, but you are going the right way to get yourselfa taste of the knout, my friend; and if you don't clear out of thisstreet in double quick time, I shall summon those who are very wellable to make you cry, though you may be the best bear-sticker that everwalked. Now then, off you go!"

  The fellow laid his hand upon the hunter's arm, as though to put histhreat of violence into execution; but in doing so he made a greatmistake. Boris was fearless and independent; he was unaccustomed tothreats and interference. As a rule people were afraid of him, andshowed him deference: what right had this man to browbeat and threatenhim? Boris's hot blood resented the insult, and in a moment the man laysprawling at his feet, bellowing loudly for help, crying and swearingin a breath, in a manner which is natural to the Russian peasant. Hiscries instantly brought around the pair a host of serfs and servants,who quickly hustled Boris within the passage, and made as though theywould lay hold of him. But this the high-spirited hunter of bearswould not submit to, and, with his back to the wall, he hit out rightand left with so good effect that the number of his assailants wasconsiderably reduced in very quick time indeed.

  This was a row quite after Boris's own heart, and he was thoroughlyenjoying himself among the noisy crowd of shouting and whiningserving-men, when a loud voice broke in above the noise--a voice thatBoris seemed to recognize, and at the sound of which every othervoice in that noisy hall died away into instant silence. The fallenassailants of Boris uprose from the earth and ranged themselves inline, prepared to denounce the foe or to excuse themselves according asoccasion arose. But the new arrival exacted no explanations.

  "Why," he cried, "it's my friend the bear-eater! Come along this way,Bear-eater, and tell me all about this disturbance. Have you killed sofew bears of late that you must needs work off your spare energies atthe expense of my poor servants? Well, well, if you were to rid me ofa score or two of the thieving rogues, I should do well enough withoutthem, I daresay. But what is it all about?"

  "The man with the embroidery wanted to give me the knout because Iasked for you by the name of Petka," said Boris, feeling that there wasmore in all this than he had quite understood. This must be somethinglike a barin, who could talk in so airy a way of a "score or two" ofhis servants. "You said your name was Petka, didn't you?"

  "Assuredly," said the other, leading the way into a private chamber;"Petka or Petrushka, sometimes Peter--I answer to all these names. Butcome now, to business. I like the look of you, Boris. I want Russianswith strong bodies and brave hearts; I shall have work for them. Doyou feel inclined to enter my service? I will pay you well if youserve me well. Now, then, no wasting words, for I am due down at theharbour--is it yes or no?"

  "But I am not my own master," said the astonished Boris. "I am theproperty of my barin, who employs me to hunt the bears and wolves. Icannot say I will leave him and serve you, though I like the look ofyou well enough. Besides, what do you want me for--to kill bears?"

  "You shall hunt the bears to your heart's content," said the barin;"and as for your master, I will see that he does not object to yourtransfer to my service
. Is it agreed? come, yes or no."

  "Yes, then," said Boris, who both spoke and acted as in a dream. Themastery of this young giant over him seemed so complete that he couldnot have answered otherwise than in the affirmative even if he hadwished to do so. He was drawn by a power stronger than himself.

  "Very well," said the other, writing rapidly, "excellently well;shake hands upon it. Take this to your master, and come to this placeto enter upon your service to-morrow morning. You may ask for Piotr[Peter] Alexeyevitch, and I shall be ready to receive you. Now I mustgo sailing with Meinheer de Kuyper. Stay; your hand-grip now. Good!that's more like a grip than any I have felt for some time. I shalllike you, I think; only serve me faithfully."

  Peter Alexeyevitch, as he had called himself, left the room with thesewords. But Boris preserved somewhat painful reminiscences of his newfriend and master for several hours, for the return hand-grip had beensuch that the bones of his hand had ground together in the mightyclasp.