“I will thunder at them out of the pistol! Isn’t that right?”
“Oh, man, to take such a water-burner to the city! I tell you that you are not to fire without command.”
“I will inquire, ‘Who goes there?’ but so roughly that they will not know me.”
“Let it be so, then. Ha! I hear them approaching already. You may be sure that they are solid people, for scoundrels would attack us unawares from the ditch.”
Since ruffians, however, really did infest the roads, and adventures were heard of not infrequently, Zagloba commanded the driver not to go among the trees which stood in darkness at the turn of the road, but to halt in a well-lighted place. Meanwhile the four horsemen had approached a number of yards. Then Basia, assuming a bass voice, which to her seemed worthy of a dragoon, inquired threateningly,—
“Who goes there?”
“Why have you stopped on the road?” asked one of the horsemen, who thought evidently that they must have broken some part of the carriage or the harness.
At this voice Basia dropped her pistol and said hurriedly to Zagloba, “Indeed, that is uncle. Oh, for God’s sake!”
“What uncle?”
“Makovetski.”