“Now, Sergeant, after me!” cried Kmita.
And undressed as he was, in trousers only, and open shirt, he went out of the front room. Soroka followed him, opening his eyes widely with wonder; they went in this fashion to the well in the yard of the inn. Here Kmita stopped, and pointing to the bucket hanging from the sweep, said,—
“Pour water on my head!”
Soroka knew from experience how dangerous it was to ask twice about an order; he seized the rope, let the bucket down into the water, drew up quickly, and taking the bucket in his hands, threw the water on Pan Andrei, who, puffing and blowing like a whale, rubbed his wet hair with his hands, and cried,—
“More!”
Soroka repeated the act, and threw water with all his force, just as if he were putting out a fire.
“Enough!” said Kmita, at length. “Follow me, help me to dress.”
Both went to the inn. At the gate they met the two men going out with two pack-horses.
“Slowly through the town; outside the town on a gallop!” commanded Kmita; and he went in.
Half an hour later he appeared dressed completely, as if for the road, with high boots and an elkskin coat, girded with a leather belt into which was thrust a pistol.