SORRY STEEDS. S3 



villaofe. For his maintenance we left him 

 three roubles — not a great sum for a week's 

 sojourn in a strange place, but still more than 

 he managed to spend. 



Our hunters were Simon the Second, clad 

 in a goatskin and an old pair of flannel 

 drawers of mine, and a big black-bearded 

 Svan, the roughest fellow and best sportsman 

 I have yet seen in the Caucasus. To his 

 tender mercy Frank was committed. 



I hate a man who beats a horse, but I 

 own it to my shame, I could find no twig- 

 tough enough for my chestnut that day, and 

 there was just this excuse for me, that, though 

 persistent thrashing could only get a crawl 

 out of him, the moment you ceased to shout 

 or use your stick he would stop. Frank's 

 horse was a little better, but there was not a 

 great deal to choose between them, and, though 

 once his pipe was lighted Frank was much 

 more cheery and patient than I was, like 



