'I don't know whose it was--yours, I expect.'

'Was it beyond the pit by the plane tree? Then it is mine! I set
the nets last night.'

Lukashka rose and examined the captured pheasant. After stroking
the dark burnished head of the bird, which rolled its eyes and
stretched out its neck in terror, Lukashka took the pheasant in
his hands.

'We'll have it in a pilau tonight. You go and kill and pluck it.'

'And shall we eat it ourselves or give it to the corporal?'

'He has plenty!'

'I don't like killing them,' said Nazarka.

'Give it here!'

Lukashka drew a little knife from under his dagger and gave it a
swift jerk. The bird fluttered, but before it could spread its
wings the bleeding head bent and quivered.

'That's how one should do it!' said Lukashka, throwing down the
pheasant. 'It will make a fat pilau.'

Nazarka shuddered as he looked at the bird.

'I say, Lukashka, that fiend will be sending us to the ambush