Hearing this, Pan Adam made a noise like a falcon, and straightway a division of dragoons pushed into the depth of the wood. There they separated into two parties, one of which disappeared in a defile, so as to come out behind the herd and the Tartars; the other formed a half-circle, and waited.
All this was done so quietly that the most trained ear could not have caught a sound; neither sabre nor spur rattled; no horse neighed; the thick grass on the ground dulled the tramp of hoofs; besides, even the horses seemed to understand that the success of the attack depended on silence, for they were performing such service not for the first time. Nothing was heard from the defile and the brushwood but the call of the falcon, lower every little while and less frequent.
The herd of Tartar horses stopped before the wood, and scattered in greater or smaller groups on the meadow. Pan Adam himself was then near the edge, and followed all the movements of the herdsmen. The day was clear, and the time before noon, but the sun was already high, and cast heat on the earth. The horses rolled; later on, they approached the wood. The herdsmen rode to the edge of the grove, slipped down from their horses, and let them out on lariats; then seeking the shade and cool places, they entered the thicket, and lay down under the largest bushes to rest.
Soon a fire burst up in a flame; when the dry sticks had turned into coals and were coated with ashes, the herdsmen put half a colt on the coals, and sat at a distance themselves to avoid the heat. Some stretched on the grass; others talked, sitting in groups, Turkish fashion; one began to play on a horn. In the wood perfect silence reigned; the falcon called only at times.
The odor of singed flesh announced at last that the roast was ready. Two men drew it out of the ashes, and dragged it to a shady tree; there they sat in a circle cutting the meat with their knives, and eating with beastly greed. From the half-raw strips came blood, which settled on their fingers, and flowed down their beards.
When they had finished eating, and had drunk sour mare’s milk out of skins, they felt satisfied. They talked awhile yet; then their heads and limbs became heavy.
Afternoon came. The heat flew down from heaven more and more. The forest was varied with quivering streaks of light made by the rays of the sun penetrating dense places. Everything was silent; even the falcons ceased to call.
A number of Tartars stood up and went to look at the horses; others stretched themselves like corpses on a battlefield, and soon sleep overpowered them. But their sleep after meat and drink was rather heavy and uneasy, for at times one groaned deeply, another opened his lids for a moment, and repeated, “Allah, Bismillah!”
All at once on the edge of the wood was heard some low but terrible sound, like the short rattle of a stifled man who had no time to cry. Whether the ears of the herdsmen were so keen, or some animal instinct had warned them of danger, or finally, whether Death had blown with cold breath on them, it is enough that they sprang up from sleep in one moment.
“What is that? Where are the men at the horses?” they began to inquire of one another. Then from a thicket some voice said in Polish,—