“It does happen,” he repeated, in a tone of profundity and conviction.

“Ugh, he was a nasty old fellow,” the old shepherd went on with somewhat less fervour.  “Five years after the Freedom he was flogged by the commune at the office, so to show his spite he took and sent the throat illness upon all Kovyli.  Folks died out of number, lots and lots of them, just as in cholera....”

“How did he send the illness?” asked the young shepherd after a brief silence.

“We all know how, there is no great cleverness needed where there is a will to it.  Yefim murdered people with viper’s fat.  That is such a poison that folks will die from the mere smell of it, let alone the fat.”

“That’s true,” Panteley agreed.

“The lads wanted to kill him at the time, but the old people would not let them.  It would never have done to kill him; he knew the place where the treasure is hidden, and not another soul did know.  The treasures about here are charmed so that you may find them and not see them, but he did see them.  At times he would walk along the river bank or in the forest, and under the bushes and under the rocks there would be little flames, little flames... little flames as though from brimstone.  I have seen them myself.  Everyone expected that Yefim would show people the places or dig the treasure up himself, but he—­as the saying is, like a dog in the manger—­so he died without digging it up himself or showing other people.”

The overseer lit a pipe, and for an instant lighted up his big moustaches and his sharp, stern-looking, and dignified nose.  Little circles of light danced from his hands to his cap, raced over the saddle along the horse’s back, and vanished in its mane near its ears.

“There are lots of hidden treasures in these parts,” he said.

And slowly stretching, he looked round him, resting his eyes on the whitening east and added: 

“There must be treasures.”

“To be sure,” sighed the old man, “one can see from every sign there are treasures, only there is no one to dig them, brother.  No one knows the real places; besides, nowadays, you must remember, all the treasures are under a charm.  To find them and see them you must have a talisman, and without a talisman you can do nothing, lad.  Yefim had talismans, but there was no getting anything out of him, the bald devil.  He kept them, so that no one could get them.”

The young shepherd crept two paces nearer to the old man and, propping his head on his fists, fastened his fixed stare upon him.  A childish expression of terror and curiosity gleamed in his dark eyes, and seemed in the twilight to stretch and flatten out the large features of his coarse young face.  He was listening intently.

“It is even written in the Scriptures that there are lots of treasures hidden here,” the old man went on; “it is so for sure... and no mistake about it.  An old soldier of Novopavlovka was shown at Ivanovka a writing, and in this writing it was printed about the place of the treasure and even how many pounds of gold was in it and the sort of vessel it was in; they would have found the treasures long ago by that writing, only the treasure is under a spell, you can’t get at it.”