All fixed their eyes on him; his face changed in a moment, and he said: “Beyond the turn troops are coming from the water-fall! For God’s sake! Are they not Swedes?”
“Where? How? What?” men began to ask on every side. “We hear nothing.”
“No, for snow is lying on the sides. By God’s wounds, they are near! they will be here straightway!”
“Maybe they are the marshal’s troops,” said the king.
In one moment Kmita urged his horse forward. “I will go and see!” said he.
The Kyemliches moved that instant after him, like hunting-dogs in a chase; but barely had they stirred from their places when the turn of the pass, about a hundred yards distant, was made black by men and horses. Kmita looked at them, and the soul quivered within him from terror.
Swedes were advancing.
They were so near that it was impossible to retreat, especially since the king’s party had wearied horses. It only remained to break through, to perish, or to go into captivity. The unterrified king understood this in a flash; therefore he seized the hilt of his sword.
“Cover the king and retreat!” cried Kmita.
Tyzenhauz with twenty men pushed forward in the twinkle of an eye; but Kmita instead of joining them moved on at a sharp trot against the Swedes.