Denisov and Petya rode up to him. From the place where the peasant 'as standing the French could be seen. Just beyond the wood a field of oring corn ran sharply downhill. On the right, across a steep ravine, buld be seen a little village and a manor-house with the roofs broken own. In that village and in the house and all over the high ground in he garden, by the wells and the pond, and all along the road uphhill from he bridge to the village, not more than five hundred yards away, crowds f men could be seen in the shifting mist. They could distinctly hear their oreign cries at the horses pulling the baggage uphill and their calls to ne another.
‘Give me the prisoner here,’ said Denisov, in a low voice, never taking lis eyes off the French.
A Cossack got off his horse, lifted the boy down, and came with him to Denisov. Denisov, pointing to the F'rench, asked the boy what troops hey were. The boy, thrusting his chilled hands into his pockets and aising his eyebrows, looked in dismay at Denisov, and in spite of his inmistakable desire to tell all he knew, he was confused in his answers, nd merely repeated Denisov’s questions. Denisov, frowning, turned way from him, and addressing the esaul, told him his own views on the natter.
Petya, turning his head rapidly, looked from the drummer to Denisov, ind from the esaul to the French in the village and on the road, trying not 0 miss anything of importance.
‘Whether Dolohov comes or not, we must take them. . . . Eh?’ said Denisov, his eyes sparkling merrily.
‘It is a convenient spot,’ said the esaul.
‘We will send the infantry down below, by the marshes,’ Denisov went
on. ‘They will creep up to the garden; you clash down with the Cossack from there’—Denisov pointed to the wood beyond the village—‘and from here with my hussars. And at a shot . . .’
‘It won't do to go by the hollow; it’s a bog,’ said the esaul. ‘The horse will sink in, you must skirt round more to the left. . . .’
While they were talking in undertones, there was the crack of a sho and a puff of white smoke in the hollow below near the pond, and th voices of hundreds of Frenchmen halfway up the hill rose in a ringim shout, as though in merry chorus. At the first minute both Denisov am the esaul darted back. They were so near that they fancied they wer the cause of that shot and those shouts. But they had nothing to do wit! them. A man in something red was running through the marshes below The French were evidently firing and shouting at him.
‘Why, it’s our Tihon,’ said the esaul.
‘It’s he! it’s he!’ •
‘The rogue,’ said Denisov.
‘He’ll get away! ’ said the esaul, screwing up his eyes.
The man they called Tihon, running up to the little river, splashed intc it, so that the water spurted up round him, and disappearing for an in stant, scrambled out on all fours, looking dark from the water, and ran on The French, who had been pursuing him, stopped.
‘Well, he’s a smart fellow,’ said the esaul.
‘The beast,’ said Denisov, with the same expression of vexation. ‘Anc what has he been about all this time?’
‘Who is he?’ asked Petya.
‘It’s our scout. I sent him to catch a “tongue” for us.’
‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Petya, nodding at Denisov’s first word, as thougl he knew all about it, though he did not understand a word.
Tihon Shtcherbatov was one of the most useful men among Denisov’s followers. He was a peasant of the village of Pokrovskoe, near Gzhat Denisov had come to Pokrovskoe early in his operations as a guerilla leader, and sending, as he always did, for the village elder, asked him what he knew about the French.
The village elder had answered, as all village elders always did answer that he knew nothing about them, and had seen nothing of them. But 1 when Denisov explained to him that his object was to kill the French, and inquired whether no French had strayed into his village, the village elder replied that there had been some miroders certainly, but that the only person who took any heed of such things was Tishka Shtcherbatov. Denisov ordered Tihon to be brought before him, and praising his activ- 1 ity, said in the presence of the elder a few words about the devotion to the Tsar and the Fatherland and the hatred of the French that all sons of the Fatherland must cherish in their hearts.
‘We don’t do any harm to the French,’ said Tihon, evidently scared at Denisov’s words. ‘It’s only, you know, just a bit of fun for the lads and me. The miroders now—we have killed a dozen or so of them, but we have done no harm else . . .’
Next day, when Denisov was leaving Pokrovskoe, having forgotten a about this peasant, he was told that Tihon was with his followers, ad asked to be allowed to remain with them. Denisov bade them let bjn stay.
