"Aleksandr Abramov, Sergei Abramov. Horsemen from Nowhere ("ВСАДНИКИ НИОТКУДА", англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

and found him right near the ice wall. He was lying in the snow with only a
sweater on. His unshaven face and black cap of hair were covered with a thin
fluffy layer of snow. In one hand, thrown to the side, he clenched a knife
with traces of caked frozen blood. On the snow near his shoulder was a
spread-out rose-coloured spot. The snow about had been stamped on, and as
far as we could make out, the tracks were those of Vano, for he wore
enormous-size boots.
He was alive. When we raised him, he moaned but did not open his eyes.
Being- the strongest, I lifted him onto my back. Tolya supported him from
behind. In the tent we carefully removed the sweater and found the wound to
be quite superficial. There was little loss of blood and the blood on the
knife was most likely that of his opponent. We were not so much afraid of
the loss of blood as of overcooling. We did not know how long he had lain on
the ice. But luckily it wasn't very cold and he was tough. We rubbed the boy
with alcohol and, pulling open his clenched teeth, we poured some inside.
Vano coughed, opened his eyes and muttered something-in his native Georgian.
"Don't move," we cried, bundling him up in the sleeping bag like a
mummy.
"Where is he?" Vano asked suddenly, coming to. This time he spoke
Russian.
"Who? Who are you talking about?"
He did not respond, his strength was giving out and he began to rave.
It was impossible to make anything out of the gibberish of mixed Russian and
Georgian words.
"The snow maiden," was what I heard, at least that is what I thought I
heard.
"He's delirious," Dyachuk said grieved.
Only Zernov was calm.
"That guy's cast iron," it was said of Vano, but it could have been
said of Zernov himself.
We decided to wait till evening before starting on our journey, all the
more so since both day and evening were just as light. And Vano needed some
sleep too: the alcohol was beginning to take action. A strange torpitude
took hold of us as well. Tolya grunted, climbed into his sleeping bag and
was soon asleep. Zernov and I tried our best to stay awake, smoke a
cigarette, but finally gave up. We spread out our sponge mat and slithered
into our sleeping bags.
"We'll take an hour off and then start on the trip."
"Okay, boss, one hour of sleep."
There was silence.
For some reason, neither he nor I expressed any ideas about what had
happened to Vano. As if in conspiracy we refrained from any commentary,
though I am sure we were both thinking about the same thing. Who was Vano's
enemy and where did he come from in this polar desert? Why was Vano
undressed and outside the cave, he had not even had time to put on his
leather coat. This means the fight began in the tent. What came before that?
And why the blood-covered knife in Vano's hand? This was surprising
especially since Chokheli never used weapons, despite his excitable nature,
unless truly forced to it. What made him do it-did he try to defend someone
or was it simply a marauding attack? But that is certainly funny, robbers