Word came
that a huge bear had been seen in the forest stretching towards
Juriewetz. The sorrowing Prince pricked up his ears, threw down
his whip, and ordered a chase. Sasha, the broad-shouldered, the
cunning, the ready, the untiring companion of his master, secretly
ordered a cask of vodki to follow the crowd of hunters and
serfs. There was a steel-bright sky, a low, yellow sun, and a
brisk easterly wind from the heights of the Ural. As the crisp
snow began to crunch under the Prince's sled, his followers saw the
old expression come back to his face. With song and halloo and
blast of horns, they swept away into the forest.
Saint John the Hunter must have been on guard over Russia that day.
The great bear was tracked, and after a long and exciting chase,
fell by the hand of Prince Alexis himself. Halt was made in an
open space in the forest, logs were piled together and kindled on
the snow, and just at the right moment (which no one knew better
than Sasha) the cask of vodki rolled into its place. When the
serfs saw the Prince mount astride of it, with his ladle in his
hand, they burst into shouts of extravagant joy.
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