Part 39 (1/2)

”Oh, well, our fellows----”

”Yes, that's it, they may come off second best. Our fellows are as plucky as plucky can be.”

”Well, if we live long enough, we shall hear something about them soon.”

”Well, now, what do you _think_? Do you think they really will get clean away?”

”I am sure, as I live, that they'll never be caught,” said one of the most excited, giving the table a great blow with his fist.

”Hm! That's as things turn out.”

”I'll tell you what, friends,” said Skouratof, ”if I once got out, I'd stake my life they'd never get me again.”

”_You?_”

Everybody burst out laughing. They would hardly condescend to listen to him; but Skouratof was not to be put down.

”I tell you I'd stake my life on it!” with great energy. ”Why, I made my mind up to _that_ long ago. I'd find means of going through a key-hole rather than let them lay hands on me.”

”Oh, don't you fear, when your belly got empty you'd just go creeping to a peasant and ask him for a morsel of something.”

Fresh laughter.

”I ask him for victuals? You're a liar!”

”Hold your jaw, can't you? We know what you were sent here for. You and your Uncle Vacia killed some peasant for bewitching your cattle.”[12]

More laughter. The more serious among them seemed very angry and indignant.

”You're a liar,” cried Skouratof; ”it's Mikitka who told you that; I wasn't in that at all, it was Uncle Vacia; don't you mix my name up in it. I'm a Moscow man, and I've been on the tramp ever since I was a very small thing. Look here, when the priest taught me to read the liturgy, he used to pinch my ears, and say, 'Repeat this after me: Have pity on me, Lord, out of Thy great goodness;' and he used to make me say with him, 'They've taken me up and brought me to the police-station out of Thy great goodness,' and the like. I tell you that went on when I was quite a little fellow.”

All laughed heartily again; that was what Skouratof wanted; he liked playing clown. Soon the talk became serious again, especially among the older men and those who knew a good deal about escapes. Those among the younger convicts who could keep themselves quiet enough to listen, seemed highly delighted. A great crowd was a.s.sembled in and about the kitchen. There were none of the warders about; so everybody could give vent to his feelings in talk or otherwise. One man I noticed who was particularly enjoying himself, a Tartar, a little fellow with high cheek-bones, and a remarkably droll face. His name was Mametka, he could scarcely speak Russian at all, but it was odd to see the way he craned his neck forward into the crowd, and the childish delight he showed.

”Well, Mametka, my lad, _iakchi_.”

”_Iakchi, ouk, iakchi!_” said Mametka as well as he could, shaking his grotesque head. ”_Iakchi._”

”They'll never catch them, eh? _Iok._”

”_Iok, iok!_” and Mametka waggled his head and threw his arms about.

”You're a liar, then, and I don't know what you're talking about. Hey!”

”That's it, that's it, _iakchi_!” answered poor Mametka.

”All right, good, _iakchi_ it is!”

Skouratof gave him a thump on the head, which sent his cap down over his eyes, and went out in high glee, and Mametka was quite chapfallen.