Then it is mine! I set the nets last night.’

Lukashka rose and examined the captured pheasant. After stroking the dark burnished head of the bird, which rolled its eyes and stretched out its neck in terror, Lukashka took the pheasant in his hands.

‘We’ll have it in a pilau tonight. You go and kill and pluck it.’

‘And shall we eat it ourselves or give it to the corporal?’

‘He has plenty!’

‘I don’t like killing them,’ said Nazarka.

‘Give it here!’

Lukashka drew a little knife from under his dagger and gave it a swift jerk. The bird fluttered,