Vasili Andreevich did not answer, but bent over, looking behind them and
then ahead of the horse. The sweat had curled Mukhorty's coat between
his legs and on his neck. He went at a walk.

'What is it?' Nikita asked again.

'What is it? What is it?' Vasili Andreevich mimicked him angrily. 'There
are no stakes to be seen! We must have got off the road!'

'Well, pull up then, and I'll look for it,' said Nikita, and jumping
down lightly from the sledge and taking the whip from under the straw,
he went off to the left from his own side of the sledge.

The snow was not deep that year, so that it was possible to walk
anywhere, but still in places it was knee-deep and got into Nikita's
boots. He went about feeling the ground with his feet and the whip, but
could not find the road anywhere.

'Well, how is it?' asked Vasili Andreevich when Nikita came back to the
sledge.

'There is no road this side. I must go to the other side and try there,'
said Nikita.

'There's something there in front. Go and have a look.'

Nikita went to what had appeared dark, but found that it was earth which
the wind had blown from the bare fields of winter oats and had strewn
over the snow, colouring it. Having searched to the right also, he
returned to the sledge, brushed the snow from his coat, shook it out of