LITMIR.BIZ

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are guards; maybe they would let no one in, but as to letting out, they will let out. We know the password. How does your grace feel?"

      "He burned my side, but only a little. My feet are weak – "

      "Drink some gorailka."

      Kmita seized with eagerness the flask the old man gave him, and emptying half of it said, —

      "I was stiff from the cold. I shall be better at once."

      "Your grace will grow warm on the saddle. The horses are waiting."

      "In a moment I shall be better," repeated Kmita. "My side is smarting a little – that's nothing! – I am quite well." And he sat on the edge of a grain-bin.

      After a while he recovered his strength really, and looked with perfect presence of mind on the ill-omened faces of the three Kyemliches, lighted by the yellowish flame of the burning pitch. The old man stood before him.

      "Your grace, there is need of haste. The horses are waiting."

      But in Pan Andrei the Kmita of old times was roused altogether.

      "Oh, impossible!" cried he, suddenly; "now I am waiting for that traitor."

      The Kyemliches looked amazed, but uttered not a word, – so accustomed were they from former times to listen blindly to this leader.

      The veins came out on his forehead; his eyes were burning in the dark, like two stars, such was the hate and the desire of vengeance that gleamed in them. That which he did then was madness, he might pay for it with his life; but his life was made up of a series of such madnesses. His side pained him fiercely, so that every moment he seized it unwittingly with his hand; but he was thinking only of Kuklinovski, and he was ready to wait for him even till morning.

      "Listen!" said he; "did Miller really call him?"

      "No," answered the old man. "I invented that to manage the others here more easily. It would have been hard for us three against five, for some one might have raised a cry."

      "That was well. He will return alone or in company. If there are any people with him, then strike at once on them. Leave him to me. Then to horse! Has any one pistols?"

      "I have," said Kosma.

      "Give them here! Are they loaded, is there powder in the pan?"

      "Yes."

      "Very well. If he comes back alone, when he enters spring on him and shut his mouth. You can stuff his own cap into it."

      "According to command," said the old man. "Your grace permits us now to search these? We are poor men."

      He pointed to the corpses lying on the straw.

      "No! Be on the watch. What you find on Kuklinovski will be yours."

      "If he returns alone," said the old man, "I fear nothing. I shall stand behind the door; and even if some one from the quarters should come, I shall say that the colonel gave orders not to admit."

      "That will do. Watch!"

      The tramp of a horse was heard behind the barn. Kmita sprang up and stood in the shadow at the wall. Kosma and Damian took their places near the door, like two cats waiting for a mouse.

      "He is alone," said the old man.

      "Alone," repeated Kosma and Damian.

      The tramp approached, was right there and halted suddenly.

      "Come out here, some one, – hold the horse!"

      The old man jumped out quickly. A moment of silence followed, then to those waiting in the barn came the following conversation, —

      "Is that you, Kyemlich? What the thunder! art mad, or an idiot? It is night, Miller is asleep. The guard will not give admission; they say that no officer went away. How is that?"

      "The officer is waiting here in the barn for your grace. He came right away after you rode off; he says that he missed your grace."

      "What does all this mean? But the prisoner?"

      "Is hanging."

      The door squeaked, and Kuklinovski pushed into the barn; but before he had gone a step two iron hands caught him by the throat, and smothered his cry of terror. Kosma and Damian, with the adroitness of genuine murderers, hurled him to the ground, put their knees on his breast, pressed him so that his ribs began to crack, and gagged him in the twinkle of an eye.

      Kmita came forward, and holding the pitch light to his eyes, said, —

      "Ah! this is Pan Kuklinovski! Now I have something to say to you!"

      Kuklinovski's face was blue, the veins were so swollen that it seemed they might burst any moment; but in his eyes, which were coming out of his head and bloodshot, there was quite as much wonder as terror.

      "Strip him and put him on the beam!" cried Kmita.

      Kosma and Damian fell to stripping him as zealously as if they wished to take the skin from him together with his clothing.

      In a quarter of an hour Kuklinovski was hanging by his hands and feet, like a half goose, on the beam. Then Kmita put his hands on his hips and began to brag terribly.

      "Well, Pan Kuklinovski," said he, "who is better, Kmita or Kuklinovski?" Then he seized the burning tow and took a step nearer. "Thy camp is distant one shot from a bow, thy thousand ruffians are within call, there is thy Swedish general a little beyond, and thou art hanging here from this same beam from which 'twas thy thought to roast me. – Learn to know Kmita! Thou hadst the thought to be equal to Kmita, to belong to his company, to be compared with him? Thou cut-purse, thou low ruffian, terror of old women, thou offscouring of man. Lord Scoundrel of Scoundrelton! Wry-mouth, trash, slave! I might have thee cut up like a kid, like a capon; but I choose to roast thee alive as thou didst think to roast me."

      Saying this, he raised the tow and applied it to the side of the hanging, hapless man; but he held it longer, until the odor of the burned flesh began to spread through the barn.

      Kuklinovski writhed till the rope was swinging with him. His eyes, fastened on Kmita, expressed terrible pain and a dumb imploring for pity; from his gagged lips came woful groans; but war had hardened the heart of Pan Andrei, and there was no pity in him, above all, none for traitors.

      Removing at last the tow from Kuklinovski's side, he put it for a while under his nose, rubbed with it his mustaches, his eyelashes, and his brows; then he said, —

      "I give thee thy life to meditate on Kmita. Thou wilt hang here till morning, and now pray to God that people find thee before thou art frozen."

      Then he turned to Kosma and Damian. "To horse!" cried he, and went out of the barn.

      Half an hour later around the four riders were quiet hills, silent and empty fields. The fresh breeze, not filled with smoke of powder, entered their lungs. Kmita rode ahead, the Kyemliches after him. They spoke in low voices. Pan Andrei was silent, or rather he was repeating in silence the morning "Our Father," for it was not long before dawn.

      From time to time a hiss or even a low groan was rent from his lips, when his burned side pained him greatly. But at the same time he felt on horseback and free; and the thought that he had blown up the greatest siege gun, and besides that had torn himself from the hands of Kuklinovski and had wrought vengeance on him, filled Pan Andrei with such consolation that in view of it the pain was nothing.

      Meanwhile a quiet dialogue between the father and the sons turned into a loud dispute.

      "The money belt is good," said the greedy old man; "but where are the rings? He had rings on his fingers; in one was a stone worth twenty ducats."

      "I forgot to take it," answered Kosma.

      "I wish you were killed! Let the old man think of everything, and these rascals haven't wit for a copper! You forgot the rings, you thieves? You lie like dogs!"

      "Then turn back, father, and look," muttered Damian.

      "You lie, you thieves! You hide things. You wrong your old father, – such sons! I wish that I had not begotten you. You will die without a blessing."

      Kmita reined

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