[24] The subordinates of the atarost.

"The only news with me is, that my horse has cast a shoe, and the poor
devil is dead lame," answered the Captain in pretty good Tartar: "and
here is, just _ápropos_, a blacksmith!" he continued, turning to a
broad-shouldered Tartar, who was filing the fresh-shod hoof of Ammalát's
horse. "Kounák! (my friend,)--shoe my horse--the shoes are ready--'tis
but the clink of a hammer, and 'tis done in a moment!"

The blacksmith turned sulkily towards the Captain a face tanned by his
forge and by the sun, looked from the corners of his eyes at his
questioner, stroked the thick mustache which overshadowed a beard long
unrazored, and which might for its bristles have done honour to any
boar; flattened his arákshin (bonnet) on his head, and coolly continued
putting away his tools in their bag.

"Do you understand me, son of a wolf race?" said the Captain.

"I understand you well," answered the blacksmith,--"you want your horse
shod."

"And I should advise you to shoe him," replied the Captain, observing on
the part of the Tartar a desire to jest.

"To-day is a holiday: I will not work."

"I will pay you what you like for your work; but I tell you that,
whether you like it or not, you must do what I want."