The smoke was carried away by the wind. Kondrat had told the truth; it
really was an overground fire, which only scorched the grass and passed
on without finishing its work, leaving behind it a black and smoking,
but not even smouldering, track. At times, it is true, when the fire
came upon a hole filled with dry wood and twigs, it suddenly and with a
kind of peculiar, rather vindictive roar, rose up in long, quivering
points; but it soon sank down again and ran on as before, with a slight
hiss and crackle. I even noticed, more than once, an oak-bush, with dry
hanging leaves, hemmed in all round and yet untouched, except for a
slight singeing at its base. I must own I could not understand why the
dry leaves were not burned. Kondrat explained to me that it was owing
to the fact that the fire was overground, 'that's to say, not angry.'
'But it's fire all the same,' I protested. 'Overground fire,' repeated
Kondrat. However, overground as it was, the fire, none the less,
produced its effect: hares raced up and down with a sort of disorder,
running back with no sort of necessity into the neighbourhood of the
fire; birds fell down in the smoke and whirled round and round; horses
looked back and neighed, the forest itself fairly hummed--and man felt
discomfort from the heat suddenly beating into his face....

'What are we looking at?' said Yegor suddenly, behind my back. 'Let's
go on.'

'But where are we to go?' asked Kondrat.

'Take the left, over the dry bog; we shall get through.'

We turned to the left, and got through, though it was sometimes
difficult for both the horses and the cart.