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The Major, in a scanty déshabillé, was storming furiously about the room, cursing our frightened drivers in classical Russian, because the horses had all stampeded during the night and gone, as he said with expressive simplicity, "Chort tolko znal kooda" "the devil only knew where."
Surprised to find men travelling away from the village at that hour of the night, we hailed them with a "Halloo!" "Halloo!" "Vwe kooda yáydetia?" "Where are you going?" "We're going to Penzhina; who are you?" "We're Gizhigintsi, also going to Penzhina; what you coming down the river for?" "We're trying to find the village, devil take it; we've been travelling all night and can't find anything!"
"At kooda?" "Where from?" demanded Dodd, quickly. This was important news. Colonel Bulkley had evidently touched at the southern end of Kamchatka on his return from Bering Sea, and the letters brought by the courier would undoubtedly explain why he had not landed the party at the mouth of the Anadyr River, as he had intended.
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