Another one, however, with a wild Russian beard, but with the eyes of
a Tartar, like those of Tsiganok, gazed pensively above Tsiganok's
head, then smiled and remarked:

"It is indeed interesting."

With light hearts, without mercy, without the slightest pangs of
conscience, the judges brought out against Tsiganok a verdict of
death.

"Correct!" said Tsiganok, when the verdict was pronounced. "In the
open field and on a cross-beam! Correct!"

And turning to the convoy, he hurled with bravado:

"Well, are we not going? Come on, you sour-coat. And hold your gun-I
might take it away from you!"

The soldier looked at him sternly, with fear, exchanged glances with
his comrade, and felt the lock of his gun. The other did the same. And
all the way to the prison the soldiers felt that they were not walking
but flying through the air-as if hypnotized by the prisoner, they felt
neither the ground beneath their feet, nor the passage of time, nor
themselves.

Mishka Tsiganok, like Yanson, had had to spend seventeen days in
prison before his execution. And all seventeen days passed as though
they were one day-they were bound up in one inextinguishable thought
of escape, of freedom, of life. The restlessness of Tsiganok, which
was now repressed by the walls and the bars and the dead window