It was then that Antek came up; he had been much delayed on his way, though he had hurried so that he was forced to rest awhile to take breath, and also to see how things fared with his father.
The forester had the advantage. True, it was no easy matter, for he was much exhausted, and the old man fought a good fight. Again and again, both fell down, and rolled about like rival dogs, and bruised each other on the ground. But Boryna now was more and more frequently undermost; his cap had fallen off, and his white head was again and again battered against the gnarled roots of the trees.
Antek glanced round a second time, drew the gun from under his sheepskin, crouched down to take aim, and—crossing himself mechanically!—levelled the weapon at his father’s head! But before he could pull the trigger, both combatants had risen to their feet, Antek rose likewise, and his barrel pointed straight at his father. … But no shot came.—A sense of unspeakable horror had entered his heart: he could hardly draw breath for the pain of it. His hands shook as with an ague; all his body trembled; a mist veiled his eyes. Then, suddenly, a short piercing shriek burst forth.
“Killed! I’m killed!”
The forester had just clubbed Boryna with his gunstock. The blood spurted; the old man threw up his arms and fell headlong to the ground.
Antek, flinging his gun away, sprang to his father’s side, whose breath rattled in his throat. The skull was terribly injured; he still was alive, but his eyes stared glassily, and his feet moved with continuous jerks.
“My father! O Jesus! my father!” he exclaimed at the top of his voice. Taking up the insensible body, he pressed it to his bosom, and cried again, in tones of despair:
“My father! they have slain him … slain him!” And his voice was the howl of a wild beast that has lost her cubs.
Several men who were close by came to Boryna’s aid, placed him upon a litter of boughs, applied snow to his wounded head, and assisted him to the best of their knowledge. Antek had sat down on the ground, tearing his hair and crying out as one mad:
“They have killed him … killed him!” till the folk began to think him really distracted.
Suddenly he stopped.—All came upon him in a flash: he at once darted upon the forester with such a shriek of rage, with such a rabid glare in his eyes, that the latter trembled and would have fled. Soon aware, however, that flight could not save him, he turned and fired, so close that Antek’s face was blackened with powder. By some miracle, he missed—and the avenger was on him like a thunderbolt.
Resistance, attempts to escape, prayers for mercy forced from him by despair and fear of death, were all in vain. Antek’s clutch was the grip of a maddened wolf. He throttled him till the gristle of his windpipe cracked, then whirling him on high, thrashed a tree with his body until the breath was quite beaten out of it.
Then he began to fight the others. Wherever he appeared, all fled before him terrified: so fearful was he to behold, smeared with his father’s blood and with his own, bareheaded, with matted hair, livid as a corpse—a portentous monster of superhuman strength! Almost by himself, he struck down and put to flight such as yet resisted; and, in the end, they were forced to calm him and hold him back, or he would have beaten all the hostile party to death.
All was over. Those of Lipka, though bleeding from many a wound, now filled the wood with triumphant cries.
The women tended the more grievously wounded, and placed them on sledges. They were not a few. One of Klemba’s sons had a broken arm; Andrew Paches’ leg, too, was broken; he could not walk, and screamed as they bore him off. Kobus was unable to move for the blows he had got; Matthew was spitting blood, and his loins hurt him exceedingly. Others also were in as evil plight almost. Scarcely one had come unscathed out of the encounter; but—they were victorious! So, caring no whit for their wounds, they set up joyful deafening shouts as they prepared to return.
Boryna was lifted into his sledge, and driven slowly, for fear he should die on the road. He remained unconscious: gore oozed from under the bandages, falling into his eyes and running down his cheeks, which were white as a dead man’s.
Antek walked beside the sledge, gazing on his father with eyes full of dismay. When the ground was rough, he held his head up gently; from time to time he would murmur low, in a tone of infinite sorrow:
“My father! O God! my father!”
The folk went home as best they could, in disorderly groups of threes and fours, among the trees, for the roadway was taken up by the sledges. Now and then a deep groan was heard; but most of them laughed boisterously, with merry shouts. And they talked and talked, relating episodes of the fight, priding themselves on their victory, and deriding the vanquished. Songs, too, and deafening whoops reverberated through the woodland. They were all intoxicated with victory, and more than one staggered along, stumbling over roots or jostling the trunks of trees.
Blows and fatigue were all forgotten; their hearts, elated with the ineffable glory of success, swelled with enthusiasm, and felt the force to withstand the whole world, if it opposed. Nay! get the better of it, too!
On they trooped in noisy bands, with flashing glances at the forest—theirs by right of conquest!—And it waved above them and rustled and shed on their heads its dew of melted frost, as if it were weeping over them.
Suddenly Boryna opened his eyes, gazing long at Antek, and seemingly unable to believe his senses.
