Night set in. The Turks took off the fetters that weighed upon the prisoner's feet, hound his hands with a rope, and taking him with them, started for the Steppes. Kirdjali led them, going in a straight line from one mound to another. They walked about for some time. At last Kirdjali stopped close to a broad stone, measured a dozen steps to the south, stamped, and said, "Here."
The Turks arranged themselves for work. Four took out their daggers and began digging the earth, while three remained on guard. Kirdjali sat down on the stone, and looked on.
"Well, now, shall you be long?" he inquired; "have you found it?"
"Not yet," replied the Turks, and they worked away till the perspiration rolled like hail from them.
Kirdjali grew impatient.
"What people!" he exclaimed; "they can't even dig decently. Why, I should have found it in two minutes. Children! Untie my hands, and give me a dagger."
The Turks reflected, and began to consult with one another.
"Why not?" they concluded. "We will release his hands, and give him a dagger. What can it matter? He is only one, while we are seven."
And the Turks unbound his bands and gave him a dagger.