“Be quick, or we answer from guns. It will be better for thee to hurry. Take us to the house; if not, we will cook thee in thy own pitch.”
“I cannot defend myself alone, but there will be more of us. Ye will lay down your lives here.”
“There will be more of us too; lead on!”
“Go on yourselves; it is not my affair.”
“What thou hast to eat, give us, and gorailka. We are carrying a man who will pay.”
“If he leaves here alive.”
Thus conversing, they entered the cabin; a fire was burning in the chimney, and from pots, hanging by the handles, came the odor of boiling meat. The cabin was quite large. Soroka saw at the walls six wooden beds, covered thickly with sheepskins.
“This is the resort of some company,” muttered he to his comrades. “Prime your guns and watch well. Take care of this scoundrel, let him not slip away. The owners sleep outside to-night, for we shall not leave the house.”
“The men will not come to-day,” said the pitch-maker.
“That is better, for we shall not quarrel about room, and to-morrow we will go on,” replied Soroka; “but now dish the meat, for we are hungry, and spare no oats on the horses.”