Misha really never did lie).—­Abdulka looked at me again.-’And dost thou know how to drink wine?’-’I do,’ said I; ’as much as thou wilt give, so much will I drink.’—­Again Abdulka was astonished, and mentioned Allah.  And then he ordered his daughter, or some pretty maiden, whoever she was,—­anyhow, she had the gaze of a jackal,—­to fetch a leathern bottle of wine.—­And I set to work.—­’But thy sabre is spurious,’ says he; ’here, take this genuine one.  And now thou and I are friends.’—­And you have lost your wager, gentlemen, so pay up.”

A second legend concerning Misha runs as follows.  He was passionately fond of cards; but as he had no money and did not pay his gambling debts (although he was never a sharper), no one would any longer sit down to play with him.  So one day he began to importune a brother officer, and insisted upon the latter’s playing with him.

“But thou wilt be sure to lose, and thou wilt not pay.”

“I will not pay in money, that’s true—­but I will shoot a hole through my left hand with this pistol here!”

“But what profit is there for me in that?”

“No profit whatever—­but it’s a curious thing, nevertheless.”

This conversation took place after a carouse, in the presence of witnesses.  Whether Misha’s proposal really did strike the officer as curious or not,—­at all events, he consented.  The cards were brought, the game began.  Misha was lucky; he won one hundred rubles.  And thereupon his opponent smote himself on the forehead.

“What a blockhead I am!” he cried.—­“On what a bait was I caught!  If thou hadst lost, much thou wouldst have shot thyself through the hand!—­so it’s just an assault on my pocket!”

“That’s where thou art mistaken,” retorted Misha:—­“I have won—­but I’ll shoot the hole through my hand.”

He seized his pistol, and bang! shot himself through the hand.  The bullet went clear through ... and a week later the wound was completely healed!

On another occasion still, Misha is riding along the road by night with his comrades....  And they see yawning, right by the side of the road, a narrow ravine in the nature of a cleft, dark, very dark, and the bottom of it not visible.

“Here now,” says one comrade, “Misha is reckless enough about some things, but he will not leap into this ravine.”

“Yes, I will!”

“No, thou wilt not, because it is, probably, ten fathoms deep, and thou mightest break thy neck.”

His friend knew how to attack him—­through his vanity....  Misha had a great deal of it.

“But I will leap, nevertheless!  Wilt thou bet on it?  Ten rubles.”

“All right!”

And before his comrade had managed to finish the last word Misha flew off his horse into the ravine, and crashed down on the stones.  They were all fairly petrified with horror....  A good minute passed, and they heard Misha’s voice proceeding as though from the bowels of the earth, and very dull: