[6] Rather less than an English yard.

The rescued Colonel hurried to embrace his friend, but the latter was slashing, mangling, in a fit of rage, the slain beast.  “I accept not unmerited thanks,” he answered at length, turning from the Colonel’s embrace.  “This same boar gored before my eyes a Bek of Tabasoran, my friend, when he, having missed him, had entangled his foot in the stirrup.  I burned with anger when I saw my comrade’s blood, and flew in pursuit of the boar.  The closeness of the wood prevented me from following his track; I had quite lost him; and God has brought me hither to slay the accursed brute, when he was on the point of sacrificing a yet nobler victim—­you, my benefactor.”

“Now we are quits, dear Ammalat.  Do not talk of past events.  This day our teeth shall avenge us on this tusked foe.  I hope you will not refuse to taste the forbidden meat, Ammalat?”

“Not I! nor to wash it down with champagne, Colonel.  Without offence to Mahomet, I had rather strengthen my soul with the foam of the wine, than with the water of the true believer.”

The hunt now turned to the other side.  From afar were heard cries and hallooing, and the drums of the Tartars in the chase.  From time to time shots rang through the air.  A horse was led up to the Colonel:  and he, feasting his sight with the boar, which was almost cut in two, patted Ammalat on the shoulder, crying “A brave blow!”

“In that blow exploded my revenge,” answered the Bek; “and the revenge of an Asiatic is heavy.”

“You have seen, you have witnessed,” replied the Colonel, “how injury is avenged by Russians—­that is, by Christians; let this be not a reproach, but—­a lesson to you.”

And they both galloped off towards the Line.

Ammalat was remarkably absent—­sometimes he did not answer at all—­at others, he answered incoherently to the questions of Verkhoffsky, by whom he rode, gazing abstractedly around him.  The Colonel, thinking that, like an eager hunter, he was engrossed by the sport, left him, and rode forward.  At last, Ammalat perceived him whom he was so impatiently expecting, his hemdjek, Saphir Ali, flew to meet him, covered with mud, and mounted on a smoking horse.  With cries of “Aleikoum Selam,” they both jumped off their horses, and were immediately locked in each other’s embrace.

“And so you have been there—­you have seen her—­you have spoken to her?” cried Ammalat, tearing off his kaftan, and choking with agitation.  “I see by your face that you bring good news; here is my new tchoukha[7] for you for that.  Does she live?  Is she well?  Does she love me as before?”

    [7] The Tartars have an invariable custom, of taking off some
    part of their dress and giving it to the bearer of good news.