From Grishkino to Goryachkin was about another four miles.

In the middle of the village they almost ran into a tall man walking
down the middle of the street.

'Who are you?' shouted the man, stopping the horse, and recognizing
Vasili Anereevich he immediately took hold of the shaft, went along it
hand over hand till he reached the sledge, and placed himself on the
driver's seat.

He was Isay, a peasant of Vasili Andreevich's acquaintance, and well
known as the principal horse-thief in the district.

'Ah, Vasili Andreevich! Where are you off to?' said Isay, enveloping
Nikita in the odour of the vodka he had drunk.

'We were going to Goryachkin.'

'And look where you've got to! You should have gone through
Molchanovka.'

'Should have, but didn't manage it,' said Vasili Andreevich, holding in
the horse.

'That's a good horse,' said Isay, with a shrewd glance at Mukhorty, and
with a practised hand he tightened the loosened knot high in the horse's
bushy tail.

'Are you going to stay the night?'