arms, and that he felt he was a Cossack and fully knew his own
value. His ample Circassian coat was torn in some places, his cap
was on the back of his head Chechen fashion, and his leggings had
slipped below his knees. His clothing was not rich, but he wore it
with that peculiar Cossack foppishness which consists in imitating
the Chechen brave. Everything on a real brave is ample, ragged,
and neglected, only his weapons are costly. But these ragged
clothes and these weapons are belted and worn with a certain air
and matched in a certain manner, neither of which can be acquired
by everybody and which at once strike the eye of a Cossack or a
hillsman. Lukashka had this resemblance to a brave. With his hands
folded under his sword, and his eyes nearly closed, he kept
looking at the distant Tartar village. Taken separately his
features were not beautiful, but anyone who saw his stately
carriage and his dark-browed intelligent face would involuntarily
say, 'What a fine fellow!'

'Look at the women, what a lot of them are walking about in the
village,' said he in a sharp voice, languidly showing his
brilliant white teeth and not addressing anyone in particular.

Nazarka who was lying below immediately lifted his head and
remarked:

'They must be going for water.'

'Supposing one scared them with a gun?' said Lukashka, laughing,
'Wouldn't they be frightened?'

'It wouldn't reach.'