"I take your bet!"

And Mísha instantly saddled his horse and rode off to Abdulka. He was
gone for three days. All were convinced that he had come to some
dreadful end. And behold! he came back, somewhat tipsy, and with a
sabre, only not the one which he had carried away with him, but
another. They began to question him.

"It's all right," said he. "Abdulka is a kind man. At first he really
did order fetters to be riveted on my legs, and was even preparing to
impale me on a stake. But I explained to him why I had come. 'Do not
expect any ransom from me,' said I. 'I haven't a farthing to my
name--and I have no relatives.'--Abdulka was amazed; he stared at me
with his solitary eye.-'Well,' says he, 'thou art the chief of heroes,
Russian! Am I to believe thee?'--'Believe me,' said I; 'I never lie'
(and Mísha 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 Mísha 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.