‘What a ramrod it will make,’ he said, swinging the sapling till it whistled through the air.

The Cossacks were sitting round a low Tartar table on the earthen floor of the clay-plastered outer room of the hut, when the question of whose turn it was to lie in ambush was raised.

‘Who is to go tonight?’ shouted one of the Cossacks through the open door to the corporal in the next room.

‘Who is to go?’ the corporal shouted back. ‘Uncle Burlak has been and Fomushkin too,’ said he, not quite confidently. ‘You two had better go, you and Nazarka,’ he went on, addressing Lukashka. ‘And Ergushov must go too; surely he has slept it off?’

‘You don’t sleep it off yourself so why should he?’