Land surveyor Gleb Gavrilovich Smirnov came to the station Gnilushki. He was summoned to General Khokhotov’s estate for surveying. Smirnov was about thirty miles from the place of destination. At his request for postal horses, the station gendarme only spread his hands: “You can not find a track dog for a hundred miles, but not something like postal ones…”. However, he advised the surveyor to approach the peasants, who sometimes took passengers. And indeed, he found “the most hefty peasant, sullen, pock-marked, clad in tattered sermago and bast shoes.” From the fourth blow only the peasant managed to touch his horse from the spot.
When the cart pulled out of the yard, it was dusk. The surveyor could only see the frozen plain from one side and the
Dark. Chilly. And it became scary for the surveyor. “And the driver is unreliable”. And he began to talk with the peasant. As if by accident, I asked if there were any attacks of robbers in this area. Clim, the driver’s name, was not a word. This further frightened off the surveyor. He began to inculcate that he had a revolver in his bosom and that, God forbid, whoever attacked him would be so sorry.
Here the cart turned to the left, and Smirnov finally became scared. He began to shamelessly argue and say that his honey does not feed – let the fight with the robbers. In life, he said, there was a case that three robbers attacked him. So he immediately dealt with them: one immediately gave his soul to the soul, and two others went to penal servitude. Clim looked timidly at Smirnov and spurred on the horse. The road went into the forest. Clim’s uneasy look and dark forest thickets completely intimidated the surveyor: “Where are you taking me?” “Yes you can not see? The forest.” And the farther into the forest, the more suspicious everything seemed: the fact that Clim began to look so often,