"May you have luck!" cried Kousma, and then they could hear him coaxing
the horse as he led it away to his hut.
They had to walk nearly a verst before they reached the marsh. The sun
had almost set, and the soil, covered with lush grasses and reeds, felt
moist beneath their feet. It looked darker, and had a damp smell, while
in places water shimmered. Riasantzeff had ceased smoking, and stood
with legs wide apart, looking suddenly grave as if he had to begin an
important and responsible task. Yourii kept to the right, trying to
find a dry comfortable place. In front of them lay the water which,
reflecting the clear evening sky, looked pure and deep. The other bank,
like a black stripe, could be discerned in the distance.
Almost immediately, in twos and threes, ducks rose and flew slowly over
the water, starting up suddenly out of the rushes, and then passing
over the sportsmen's heads, a row of silhouettes against the saffron
sky. Raisantzeff had the first shot, and with success. A wounded duck
tumbled sideways into the water, beating down the rushes with its
wings.
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