"Why, indeed? That's not our business!" replied the old trooper, angrily; for it was the very question which had puzzled him all his life. "Why, indeed? A good soldier obeys his officers, and the rest doesn't concern him. Why they order you back? A stupid question that! Perhaps it is to make you advance, for if you fall back you've got room to go forward. Perhaps they do it to give the enemy time to rally their men, and to prepare for another battle. I say, Gatzi, if you were a soldier, and if you were to ask such questions, they'd shoot you on the spot!"
Such conversations were instructive to the Vagabond Gatzi, and entertaining for Janosh, who gloried in the reminiscences of his campaigns; but they did not promote the ends of the two travellers. The Gulyash of Kishlak was as little communicative to Janosh as he was to his young master, nor was the hussar more lucky in his inquiries in other quarters.
"It strikes me they've agreed upon it!" murmured he. "They have but one answer to all my questions, and that answer is the worst they can give. Every one says, 'I don't know; you'd better inquire somewhere else!' and so we go from one tanya to another, without being any the wiser for it!"
They had, indeed, by this time, made the round of three counties; and though Gatzi became gradually accustomed to their roving life, and though Janosh, riding, as he did, through forests and over moors, felt almost happy to live again the life of a trooper, they came at length to be fairly tired of their fruitless search. The season, too, was by no means favourable. The month of April has a general reputation for changeableness; but in the year in which Janosh and Gatzi rode in search of Viola, that month was by no means changeable. On the contrary, it rained from the first day to the last. Janosh had seen a deal of hardship in the course of his long and eventful life; but still his temper was not proof against the provoking sameness of this extraordinary April weather. At length he fairly lost his patience.
They were just traversing the third county, at a distance of about eighty miles from Dustbury. They had been on horseback from an early hour in the morning, and now the sun was setting, when Gatzi confessed to his older comrade that he could not find the tanya to which he had promised to conduct him. The old man had hitherto borne all disappointments with great fortitude, still hoping to get news of Viola; for Gatzi had told him that the Gulyash to whom they were going knew all the herdsmen of the district. What was to be done? They were in the heart of the forest; they had lost their way; and, although Janosh swore that it was a shame for an old man to follow at the heels of a mere boy like Gatzi, he could not but wrap himself up in his bunda, and follow his companion, who was looking for marks on the trees, and for cross branches on the road, these being the signs by which men of doubtful honesty are in the habit of marking their track for the benefit of their comrades. It was quite dark when the two wanderers were at length attracted by the glare of a fire. They struck from the path which they had hitherto pursued, and reached the tanya which they sought. The pleasure which Janosh felt as he stretched his limbs by the fire could not be greater than the rapture of the Gulyash when he recognised Gatzi. The old herdsman, it seems, had been Gatzi's partner in more than one affair of which they did not care to inform the county magistrates.
When the old Gulyash had had his chat with his young companion, Janosh stepped in and asked for Viola. The first answer which he received was a profession of utter ignorance on the part of the Gulyash; when Gatzi too showed his desire for information, the herdsman told them to stay the night.
"To-morrow morning," said he, "I'll conduct you to somebody who is likely to answer your questions. There is a Gulyash in this neighbourhood who came last autumn from your part of the country. He is a good-for-nothing fellow, who does not associate with any one. He doesn't sell cattle, and there is no talking to him. But, after all, it is very likely that he can give you the information you require."
"Who can he be?" said Gatzi, astonished. "I don't know of any herdsman from our parts who has gone to this county."
"It's the brother of the Gulyash of Kishlak," replied the old man. "His brother is a trump of a fellow; but this chap is a blockhead. He won't speak to a body."
"It can't be the brother of the Gulyash of Kishlak. Old Ishtvan had but one brother, who died last autumn."