“Inspire me, O Christ, what to do, lest I fall into frenzy.”
At that moment came the report of a gun, which the forest echo threw from pine-tree to pine-tree till it brought it like thunder to the cabin.
Kmita sprang up, and seizing his sabre ran out.
“What is that?” asked he of the soldier standing at the threshold.
“A shot, Colonel.”
“Where is Soroka?”
“He went to look for the letters.”
“In what direction was the shot?”
The soldier pointed to the eastern part of the forest, which was overgrown with dense underwood.
“There!”
At that moment was heard the tramp of horses not yet visible.
“Be on your guard!” cried Kmita.
But from out the thicket appeared Soroka, hurrying as fast as his horse could gallop, and after him the other soldier. They rushed up to the cabin, sprang from the horses, and from behind them, as from behind breastworks, took aim at the thicket.
“What is there?” asked Kmita.
“A party is coming,” answered Soroka.
XXIX
Silence succeeded; but soon something began to rustle in the near thicket, as if wild beasts were passing. The movement, however, grew slower the nearer it came. Then there was silence a second time.
“How many of them are there?” asked Kmita.
“About six, and perhaps eight; for to tell the truth I could not count them surely,” said Soroka.
“That is our luck! They cannot stand against us.”
“They cannot. Colonel; but we must take one of them alive, and scorch him so that he will show the road.”
“There will be time for that. Be watchful!”
Kmita had barely said, “Be watchful,” when a streak of white smoke bloomed forth from the thicket, and you would have said that birds had fluttered in the near grass, about thirty yards from the cabin.
“They shot from old guns, with hobnails!” said Kmita; “if they have not muskets, they will do nothing to us, for old guns will not carry from the thicket.”
Soroka, holding with one hand the musket resting on the saddle of the horse standing in front of him, placed the other hand in the form of a trumpet before his mouth, and shouted—
“Let any man come out of the bushes, he will cover himself with his legs right away.”
A moment of silence followed; then a threatening voice was heard in the thicket—
“What kind of men are you?”
“Better than those who rob on the high road.”
“By what right have you found out our dwelling?”
“A robber asks about right! The hangman will show you right! Come to the cabin.”
“We will smoke you out just as if you were badgers.”
“But come on; only see that the smoke does not stifle you too.”
The voice in the thicket was silent; the invaders, it seemed, had begun to take counsel. Meanwhile Soroka whispered to Kmita—
“We must decoy someone hither, and bind him; we shall then have a guide and a hostage.”
“Pshaw!” answered Kmita, “if anyone comes it will be on parole.”
“With robbers parole may be broken.”
“It is better not to give it!” said Kmita.
With that questions sounded again from the thicket.
“What do you want?”
Now Kmita began to speak. “We should have gone as we came if you had known politeness and not fired from a gun.”
“You will not stay there—there will be a hundred horse of us in the evening.”
“Before evening two hundred dragoons will come, and your swamps will not save you, for they will pass as we passed.”
“Are you soldiers?”
“We are not robbers, you may be sure.”
“From what squadron?”
“But are you hetman? We will not report to you.”
“The wolves will devour you, in old fashion.”
“And the crows will pick you!”
“Tell what you want, a hundred devils! Why did you come to our cabin?”
“Come yourselves, and you will not split your throat crying from the thicket. Nearer, nearer!”
“On your word.”
“A word is for knights, not for robbers. If it please you, believe; if not, believe not.”
“May two come?”
“They may.”
After a while from out the thicket a hundred yards distant appeared two men, tall and broad-shouldered. One somewhat bent seemed to be a man of years; the other went upright, but stretched his neck with curiosity toward the cabin. Both wore short sheepskin coats covered with gray cloth of the kind used by petty nobles, high cowhide boots, and fur caps drawn down to their ears.
“What the devil!” said Kmita, examining the two men with care.
“Colonel!” cried Soroka, “a miracle indeed, but those are our people.”
Meanwhile they approached within a few steps, but could not see the men standing near the cabin, for the horses concealed them.
All at once Kmita stepped forward. Those approaching did not recognize him, however, for his face was bound up; they halted, and began to measure him with curious and unquiet eyes.
“And where is the other son, Pan Kyemlich?” asked Kmita; “he has not fallen, I hope.”
“Who is that—how is that—what—who is talking?” asked the old man, in a voice of amazement and as it were terrified.
And he stood motionless, with mouth and eyes widely open; then the son, who since he was younger had quicker vision, took the cap from his head.
“For God’s sake, father! that’s the colonel!” cried he.
“O Jesus! sweet Jesus!” cried the old man, “that is Pan Kmita!”
And both took the fixed posture of subordinates saluting their commanders, and on their faces were depicted both shame and wonder.
“Ah! such sons,” said Pan Andrei, laughing, “and greeted me from a gun?”
Here the old man began to shout—
“Come this way, all of you! Come!”
From the thicket appeared a number of men, among whom were the second son of the old man and the pitch-maker; all ran up at breakneck speed with weapons ready, for they knew not what had happened. But the old man shouted again—
“To your knees, rogues, to your knees! This is Pan Kmita! What fool was
