“I was asleep, and know nothing,” he lied glibly.
“Yesterday, when the trouble was here, you took my side; now you are against me, and want to go.”
“I am not against you,” he began, with much gesticulation.
“Don’t lie. I have means of knowing everything in your thoughts.”
He shrank back a pace and trembled, and crossed himself.
“You know what I mean, I see,” I said. It was no good to have a reputation for witchcraft and not make use of it. “If you lie to me now,” I went on, looking into his eyes with as fierce an expression as I could assume, “you will not outlive the present moon. Tell the truth, and no harm will come to you.” Glancing at my hand I saw I had broken the skin in tending the horse, and I smeared a little circle of blood on the tent post close by. “If that dries before you speak, it will be too late, Gartski,” I said, solemnly.
It seemed to be a very reliable card to play, this superstition of theirs. He looked at the little circle in horror, his face went ashen white and he trembled violently.
“We meant nothing against you, Burgwan; only against the witch,” he mumbled.
“It is drying fast, Gartski. Beware.”
“Petrov has gone to get help to deal with her.”