“Let your soul be on guard,” said he quietly to the men; “woe to him on whom his anger falls now!”
The soldiers hastened their steps in silence, but Kmita did not go at a walk; he almost ran, waving his hand and repeating words well-nigh incoherent.
To the ears of Soroka came only broken phrases,—
“Poisoners, faith-breakers, traitors! Crime and treason,—the two are the same—”
Then he began to mention his old comrades. The names Kokosinski, Kulvyets, Ranitski, Rekuts, and others fell from his lips one after another; a number of times he mentioned Volodyovski. Soroka heard this with wonder, and grew more and more alarmed; but in his mind he thought,—
“Some one’s blood will flow; it cannot be otherwise.”
Meanwhile they had come to the inn. Kmita shut himself in his room at once, and for about an hour he gave no sign of life. The soldiers meanwhile had tied on the packs and saddled the horses without order.
“That is no harm,” said Soroka; “it is necessary to be ready for everything.”
“We too are ready!” answered the old fighters, moving their mustaches.
In fact, it came out soon that Soroka knew his colonel well; for Kmita appeared suddenly in the front room, without a cap, in his trousers and shirt only.