Meanwhile the boy had ridden to the front of the rank, and only stopped when the colt, frightened at horses and men, stood on his hind legs and dug his hoofs into the earth. The youth sprang off, and holding the colt by the mane, bowed to the knights.
“Well, what have you to say?” asked the lieutenant, approaching him.
“The Swedes are with us at the priest’s house; they say that the king himself is among them!” said the youth, with sparkling eyes.
“Many of them?”
“Not more than two hundred horses.”
Shandarovski’s eyes now flashed in their turn; but he was afraid of an ambush, therefore he looked threateningly at the boy and asked,—
“Who sent you?”
“Who was to send me? I jumped myself on the colt, I came near falling, and lost my cap. It is well that the Swedish carrion did not see me!”
Truth was beating out of the sunburned face of the youth; he had evidently a great animosity against the Swedes,—he was panting, his cheeks were burning, he stood before the officers holding the mane of the colt with one hand, his hair disordered, the shirt open on his bosom.
“Where is the rest of the Swedish army?” asked the lieutenant.