警官奧楚美洛夫穿著新的軍大衣，手里拿著個小包，穿過市集的廣場。他身后跟著個警察，生著棕紅色頭發，端著一個粗羅，上面盛著沒收來的醋栗， 裝得滿滿的。四下里一片寂靜。……廣場上連人影也沒有。小舖和酒店敞開大門，無精打采地面對著上帝創造的這個世界，象是一張張饑餓的嘴巴。店門附近連一個 乞弓都沒有。
“你竟敢咬人，該死的東西！”奧楚美洛夫忽然听見說話聲。“伙計們，別放走它！如今咬人可不行！抓住它！哎喲，……哎喲！”
狗的尖叫聲響起來。奧楚美洛夫往那邊一看，瞧見商人彼楚京的木柴場里竄出來一條狗，用三條腿跑路，不住地回頭看。在它身后，有一個人追出來， 穿著漿硬的花布襯衫和敞開怀的坎肩。他緊追那條狗，身子往前一探，扑倒在地，抓住那條狗的后腿。緊跟著又傳來狗叫聲和人喊聲：“別放走它！”帶著睡意的臉 紛紛從小舖里探出來，不久木柴場門口就聚上一群人，象是從地底下鑽出來的一樣。
“仿佛出亂子了，官長！……”警察說。
奧楚美洛夫把身子微微往左邊一轉，邁步往人群那邊走過去。在木柴場門口，他看見上述那個敞開坎肩的人站在那儿，舉起右手，伸出一根血淋淋的手 指頭給那群人看。他那張半醉的臉上露出這樣的神情：“我要揭你的皮，坏蛋！”而且那根手指頭本身就象是一面胜利的旗幟。奧楚美洛夫認出這個人就是首飾匠赫 留金。鬧出這場亂子的禍首是一條白毛小獵狗，尖尖的臉，背上有一塊黃斑，這時候坐在人群中央的地上，前腿劈開，渾身發抖。它那含淚的眼睛里流露出苦惱和恐 懼。
“這儿出了什么事？”奧楚美洛夫擠到人群中去，問道。
“你在這儿干什么？你干嗎豎起手指頭？……是誰在嚷？”
“我本來走我的路，官長，沒招誰沒惹誰，……”赫留金湊著空拳頭咳嗽，開口說。“我正跟米特利·米特利奇談木柴的事，忽然間，這個坏東西無緣 無故把我的手指頭咬一口。……請您原諒我，我是個干活的人。……我的活儿細致。這得賠我一筆錢才成，因為我也許一個星期都不能動這根手指頭了。……法律 上，官長，也沒有這么一條，說是人受了畜生的害就該忍著。……要是人人都遭狗咬，那還不如別在這個世界上活著的好。……”
“嗯！……好，……”奧楚美洛夫嚴厲地說，咳嗽著，動了動眉毛。“好。……這是誰家的狗？這种事我不能放過不管。我要拿點顏色出來叫那些放出 狗來闖禍的人看看！現在也該管管不愿意遵守法令的老爺們了！等到罰了款，他，這個混蛋，才會明白把狗和別的畜生放出來有什么下場！我要給他點厲害瞧瞧…… 葉爾迪陵，”警官對警察說，“你去調查清楚這是誰家的狗，打個報告上來！這條狗得打死才成。不許拖延！這多半是條瘋狗。……我問你們：這是誰家的狗？”
“這條狗象是席加洛夫將軍家的！”人群里有個人說。
“席加洛夫將軍家的？嗯！……你，葉爾迪陵，把我身上的大衣脫下來。……天好熱！大概快要下雨了。……只是有一件事我不懂：它怎么會咬你的？”奧楚美洛夫對赫留金說。
“難道它夠得到你的手指頭？它身子矮小，可是你，要知道，長得這么高大！你這個手指頭多半是讓小釘子扎破了，后來卻异想天開，要人家賠你錢了。你這种人啊……誰都知道是個什么路數！我可知道你們這些魔鬼！”
“他，官長，把他的雪茄煙戳到它臉上去，拿它開心。它呢，不肯做傻瓜，就咬了他一口。……他是個無聊的人，官長！”
“你胡說，獨眼龍！你眼睛看不見，為什么胡說？官長是明白人，看得出來誰胡說，誰象當著上帝的面一樣憑良心說話。……我要胡說，就讓調解法官１審判我好了。他的法律上寫得明白。……如今大家都平等了。……不瞞您說，……我弟弟就在當憲兵。………”
“少說廢話！”
“不，這條狗不是將軍家的，……”警察深思地說。“將軍家里沒有這樣的狗。他家里的狗大半是大獵狗。……”
“你拿得准嗎？”
“拿得准，官長。……”
“我自己也知道。將軍家里的狗都名貴，都是良种，這條狗呢，鬼才知道是什么東西！毛色不好，模樣也不中看，……完全是下賤貨。……他老人家會 養這樣的狗？！你的腦筋上哪儿去了？要是這樣的狗在彼得堡或者莫斯科讓人碰上，你們知道會怎樣？那儿才不管什么法律不法律，一轉眼的工夫就叫它斷了气！ 你，赫留金，受了苦，這件事不能放過不管。……得教訓他們一下！是時候了。……”
“不過也可能是將軍家的狗……”警察把他的想法說出來。“它臉上又沒寫著。……前几天我在他家院子里就見到過這樣一條狗。”
“沒錯儿，是將軍家的！”人群里有人說。
“嗯！……你，葉爾迪陵老弟，給我穿上大衣吧。……好象起風了。……怪冷的。……你帶著這條狗到將軍家里去一趟，在那儿問一下。……你就說這 條狗是我找著，派你送去的。……你說以后不要把它放到街上來。也許它是名貴的狗，要是每個豬玀都拿雪茄煙戳到它臉上去，要不了多久就能把它作踐死。狗是嬌 嫩的動物嘛。……你，蠢貨，把手放下來！ 用不著把你那根蠢手指頭擺出來！這都怪你自己不好！……”
“將軍家的廚師來了，我們來問問他吧。……喂，普羅霍爾！你過來，親愛的！你看看這條狗。……是你們家的嗎？”
“瞎猜！我們那儿從來也沒有過這樣的狗！”
“那就用不著費很多工夫去問了，”奧楚美洛夫說。“這是條野狗！用不著多說了。……既然他說是野狗，那就是野狗。……弄死它算了。”
“這條狗不是我們家的，”普羅霍爾繼續說。“可這是將軍哥哥的狗，他前几天到我們這儿來了。我們的將軍不喜歡這种狗。他老人家的哥哥卻喜歡。……”
“莫非他老人家的哥哥來了？符拉季米爾·伊凡內奇來了？”奧楚美洛夫問，他整個臉上洋溢著動情的笑容。“可了不得，主啊！我還不知道呢！他要來住一陣吧？”
“住一陣。……”
“可了不得，主啊！……他是惦記弟弟了。……可我還不知道呢！那么這是他老人家的狗？很高興。……你把它帶去吧。……這條小狗怪不錯的。…… 挺伶俐。……它把這家伙的手指頭咬一口！哈哈哈哈！……咦，你干嗎發抖？嗚嗚，……嗚嗚。……它生气了，小坏包，……好一條小狗。……”
普羅霍爾把狗叫過來，帶著它离開了木柴場。……那群人就對著赫留金哈哈大笑。
“我早晚要收拾你！”奧楚美洛夫對他威脅說，然后把身上的大衣裹一裹緊，穿過市集的廣場，徑自走了。
１帝俄時代的保安的法官，只審理小案子。
THE police superintendent Otchumyelov is walking across the market square wearing a new overcoat and carrying a parcel under his arm. A red-haired policeman strides after him with a sieve full of confiscated gooseberries in his hands. There is silence all around. Not a soul in the square. . . . The open doors of the shops and taverns look out upon God's world disconsolately, like hungry mouths; there is not even a beggar near them. "So you bite, you damned brute?" Otchumyelov hears suddenly. "Lads, don't let him go! Biting is prohibited nowadays! Hold him! ah . . . ah!" There is the sound of a dog yelping. Otchumyelov looks in the direction of the sound and sees a dog, hopping on three legs and looking about her, run out of Pitchugin's timber-yard. A man in a starched cotton shirt, with his waistcoat unbuttoned, is chasing her. He runs after her, and throwing his body forward falls down and seizes the dog by her hind legs. Once more there is a yelping and a shout of "Don't let go!" Sleepy countenances are protruded from the shops, and soon a crowd, which seems to have sprung out of the earth, is gathered round the timber-yard. "It looks like a row, your honour . . ." says the policeman. Otchumyelov makes a half turn to the left and strides towards the crowd. He sees the aforementioned man in the unbuttoned waistcoat standing close by the gate of the timber-yard, holding his right hand in the air and displaying a bleeding finger to the crowd. On his half-drunken face there is plainly written: "I'll pay you out, you rogue!" and indeed the very finger has the look of a flag of victory. In this man Otchumyelov recognises Hryukin, the goldsmith. The culprit who has caused the sensation, a white borzoy puppy with a sharp muzzle and a yellow patch on her back, is sitting on the ground with her fore-paws outstretched in the middle of the crowd, trembling all over. There is an expression of misery and terror in her tearful eyes. "What's it all about?" Otchumyelov inquires, pushing his way through the crowd. "What are you here for? Why are you waving your finger . . . ? Who was it shouted?" "I was walking along here, not interfering with anyone, your honour," Hryukin begins, coughing into his fist. "I was talking about firewood to Mitry Mitritch, when this low brute for no rhyme or reason bit my finger. . . . You must excuse me, I am a working man. . . . Mine is fine work. I must have damages, for I shan't be able to use this finger for a week, may be. . . . It's not even the law, your honour, that one should put up with it from a beast. . . . If everyone is going to be bitten, life won't be worth living. . . ." "H'm. Very good," says Otchumyelov sternly, coughing and raising his eyebrows. "Very good. Whose dog is it? I won't let this pass! I'll teach them to let their dogs run all over the place! It's time these gentry were looked after, if they won't obey the regulations! When he's fined, the blackguard, I'll teach him what it means to keep dogs and such stray cattle! I'll give him a lesson! . . . Yeldyrin," cries the superintendent, addressing the policeman, "find out whose dog this is and draw up a report! And the dog must be strangled. Without delay! It's sure to be mad. . . . Whose dog is it, I ask?" "I fancy it's General Zhigalov's," says someone in the crowd. "General Zhigalov's, h'm. . . . Help me off with my coat, Yeldyrin . . . it's frightfully hot! It must be a sign of rain. . . . There's one thing I can't make out, how it came to bite you?" Otchumyelov turns to Hryukin. "Surely it couldn't reach your finger. It's a little dog, and you are a great hulking fellow! You must have scratched your finger with a nail, and then the idea struck you to get damages for it. We all know . . . your sort! I know you devils!" "He put a cigarette in her face, your honour, for a joke, and she had the sense to snap at him. . . . He is a nonsensical fellow, your honour!" "That's a lie, Squinteye! You didn't see, so why tell lies about it? His honour is a wise gentleman, and will see who is telling lies and who is telling the truth, as in God's sight. . . . And if I am lying let the court decide. It's written in the law. . . . We are all equal nowadays. My own brother is in the gendarmes . . . let me tell you. . . ." "Don't argue!" "No, that's not the General's dog," says the policeman, with profound conviction, "the General hasn't got one like that. His are mostly setters." "Do you know that for a fact?" "Yes, your honour." "I know it, too. The General has valuable dogs, thoroughbred, and this is goodness knows what! No coat, no shape. . . . A low creature. And to keep a dog like that! . . . where's the sense of it. If a dog like that were to turn up in Petersburg or Moscow, do you know what would happen? They would not worry about the law, they would strangle it in a twinkling! You've been injured, Hryukin, and we can't let the matter drop. . . . We must give them a lesson! It is high time . . . . !" "Yet maybe it is the General's," says the policeman, thinking aloud. "It's not written on its face. . . . I saw one like it the other day in his yard." "It is the General's, that's certain!" says a voice in the crowd. "H'm, help me on with my overcoat, Yeldyrin, my lad . . . the wind's getting up. . . . I am cold. . . . You take it to the General's, and inquire there. Say I found it and sent it. And tell them not to let it out into the street. . . . It may be a valuable dog, and if every swine goes sticking a cigar in its mouth, it will soon be ruined. A dog is a delicate animal. . . . And you put your hand down, you blockhead. It's no use your displaying your fool of a finger. It's your own fault. . . ." "Here comes the General's cook, ask him. . . Hi, Prohor! Come here, my dear man! Look at this dog. . . . Is it one of yours?" "What an idea! We have never had one like that!" "There's no need to waste time asking," says Otchumyelov. "It's a stray dog! There's no need to waste time talking about it. . . . Since he says it's a stray dog, a stray dog it is. . . . It must be destroyed, that's all about it." "It is not our dog," Prohor goes on. "It belongs to the General's brother, who arrived the other day. Our master does not care for hounds. But his honour is fond of them. . . ." "You don't say his Excellency's brother is here? Vladimir Ivanitch?" inquires Otchumyelov, and his whole face beams with an ecstatic smile. "'Well, I never! And I didn't know! Has he come on a visit? "Yes." "Well, I never. . . . He couldn't stay away from his brother. . . . And there I didn't know! So this is his honour's dog? Delighted to hear it. . . . Take it. It's not a bad pup. . . . A lively creature. . . . Snapped at this fellow's finger! Ha-ha-ha. . . . Come, why are you shivering? Rrr . . . Rrrr. . . . The rogue's angry . . . a nice little pup." Prohor calls the dog, and walks away from the timber-yard with her. The crowd laughs at Hryukin. "I'll make you smart yet!" Otchumyelov threatens him, and wrapping himself in his greatcoat, goes on his way across the square.
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