“This is their old hut.  Here he lived with his wife and somewhere on this river he took out his gold.  But he told nobody where.  All the peasants around here know that he had a lot of money in the bank and that he had been selling gold to the Government.  Here they were murdered.”

Ivan stepped to the stove, took out a flaming stick and, bending over, lighted a spot on the floor.

“Do you see these spots on the floor and on the wall?  It is their blood, the blood of Gavronsky.  They died but they did not disclose the whereabouts of the gold.  It was taken out of a deep hole which they had drifted into the bank of the river and was hidden in the cellar under the shed.  But Gavronsky gave nothing away. . . .  And Lord how I tortured them!  I burned them with fire; I bent back their fingers; I gouged out their eyes; but Gavronsky died in silence.”

He thought for a moment, then quickly said to me: 

“I have heard all this from the peasants.”  He threw the log into the stove and flopped down on the bench.  “It’s time to sleep,” he snapped out, and was still.

I listened for a long time to his breathing and his whispering to himself, as he turned from one side to the other and smoked his pipe.

In the morning we left this scene of so much suffering and crime and on the seventh day of our journey we came to the dense cedar wood growing on the foothills of a long chain of mountains.

“From here,” Ivan explained to me, “it is eighty versts to the next peasant settlement.  The people come to these woods to gather cedar nuts but only in the autumn.  Before then you will not meet anyone.  Also you will find many birds and beasts and a plentiful supply of nuts, so that it will be possible for you to live here.  Do you see this river?  When you want to find the peasants, follow along this stream and it will guide you to them.”

Ivan helped me build my mud hut.  But it was not the genuine mud hut.  It was one formed by the tearing out of the roots of a great cedar, that had probably fallen in some wild storm, which made for me the deep hole as the room for my house and flanked this on one side with a wall of mud held fast among the upturned roots.  Overhanging ones formed also the framework into which we interlaced the poles and branches to make a roof, finished off with stones for stability and snow for warmth.  The front of the hut was ever open but was constantly protected by the guardian naida.  In that snow-covered den I spent two months like summer without seeing any other human being and without touch with the outer world where such important events were transpiring.  In that grave under the roots of the fallen tree I lived before the face of nature with my trials and my anxiety about my family as my constant companions, and in the hard struggle for my life.  Ivan went off the second day, leaving for me a bag of dry bread and a little sugar.  I never saw him again.