"From Krivaya Ruda."

"Where are you going?"

"To Chigirin."

The herdsmen, looked at one another. One of them,
black as a bug and crooked-eyed, began to gaze intently
at Zagloba. At last he asked: "Why did you leave the
highway?"

"It was hot there."

The crooked-eyed man put his hand on the reins of Za-
globa's horse: "Come down from the horse, come down!
You have nothing to go to Chigirin for."

"How so?" asked Zagloba, quietly.

"Do you see that young fellow there?" asked crooked-
eye, pointing to one of the herdsmen.

"I do."

"He has come from Chigirin. They are slaughtering
Poles there."

"And do you know, fellow, who is following us to
Chigirin?"

"Who?"

"Prince Yeremi."

The insolent face of the herdsman dropped in a moment.
All, as if by command, removed, their caps.

"Do you know, you trash!" continued Zagloba, "what
the Poles do to those who slaughter? They hang them.
And do you know how many men Prince Yeremi has, and
do you know that he is no farther than two or three miles
from here? And how have you received us, you dog souls!
What stuff you tell!----the well is dried up, you have no
water for horses! Ah, basilisks! I'll show you!"

"Oh, don't be angry, Pan! The well is dried up. We
go to the Kagamlik with our horses, and bring water for
ourselves. But say the word and we will run for water."

"Oh, I can get on without you! I will go with my attend-
ant. Where is the Kagamlik?" inquired he, sternly.

"About a mile and a quarter from here," said the crooked-
eyed man, pointing to a line of reeds.

"And must I return this way, or can I go along the
bank?"

"Go by the bank. The river turns to the road about
a mile from here."

"Dash ahead, young man!" said Zagloba, turning to
Helena.

The pretended youth turned his horse and galloped on.