A Hero of our time / Герой нашего времени. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Two minutes later a terrific uproar broke out in the hut. This is what happened: Azamat ran into the hut in a torn shirt shouting that Kazbich had tried to kill him. Everybody rushed out and went for their rifles – and the fun was on! There was screaming and shouting and shots were fired, but Kazbich was already on his horse spinning around like a demon in the midst of the crowd swinging away with his saber. �It’d be big trouble to get mixed up in this,’ said I to Grigoriy Aleksandrovich as I caught him by the arm.

“�Let’s wait a bit and see how it ends.’

“�It’s sure to end badly – that’s what always happens with these Asiatics, as soon as they have enough drink they go slashing each other.’ We got on our horses and rode home.

“What happened to Kazbich?” I asked impatiently.

“What can happen to these people?” replied the captain, finishing his glass of tea. “He got away, of course.

“Not even wounded, was he?” I asked.

“The Lord only knows. They’re tough, the bandits! I have seen some of them in engagements; a man may be cut to ribbons with bayonets and still he will continue brandishing his saber.” After a brief silence the captain went on, stamping his foot: “There is one thing I’ll never forgive myself for. When we got back to the fort, the devil prompted me to tell Pechorin what I had overheard behind the fence. He laughed – the fox – though; he was already cooking up a scheme.

“What was it? I’d like to hear it.”

“I suppose I’ll have to tell you. Since I’ve begun telling the story, I might as well finish.

“Some four days later, Azamat rode up to the fort. As usual, he went in to see Grigoriy Aleksandrovich, who always had some tidbits for him. I was there too. The talk turned to horses, and Pechorin began to praise Kazbich’s horse; as spirited and graceful as a chamois the steed was, and, as Pechorin put it, there simply was no other horse like it in all the world.

“The Tatar boy’s eyes lit up, but Pechorin pretended not to notice it; I tried to change the subject, but at once he brought it back to Kazbich’s horse. This happened each time Azamat came. About three weeks later I noticed that Azamat was growing pale and wasting away as they do from love in novels. What was it all about?

“You see, I got the whole story later.