"What kind of devil can he be, and why does he flee so? But he just flies!" said Zagloba, taking out a pistol from the holsters, to be ready in every event.
Meanwhile the courier had come within thirty yards.
"Stop!" thundered Zagloba, aiming his pistol; "who are you?"
The horseman reined in his steed, and sat erect in the saddle; but the moment he looked he cried, "Pan Zagloba!"
"Pleshnyevski, attendant of the starosta of Chigirin! But what are you doing here? Where are you fleeing to?"
"Oh, turn back with me! Misfortune! The anger of God, the judgment of God!"
"What has happened? Speak!"
"Chigirin is taken by the Zaporojians. The peasants are slaughtering the nobles."
"In the name of the Father and Son! What do you say? Has Hmelnitski come?"
"Pototski is killed, Charnetski in captivity. The Tartars are marching with the Cossacks. Tugai Bey--"