"He has come from Chigirin. They are slaughtering Poles there."
"And do you know, fellow, who is following us to Chigirin?"
"Who?"
"Prince Yeremi."
The insolent face of the herdsman dropped in a moment. All, as if by command, removed their caps.
"Do you know, you trash!" continued Zagloba, "what the Poles do to those who slaughter? They hang them. And do you know how many men Prince Yeremi has, and do you know that he is no farther than two or three miles from here? And how have you received us, you dog souls! What stuff you tell!--the well is dried up, you have no water for horses! Ah, basilisks! I'll show you!"
"Oh, don't be angry, Pan! The well is dried up. We go to the Kagamlik with our horses, and bring water for ourselves. But say the word and we will run for water."
"Oh, I can get on without you! I will go with my attendant. Where is the Kagamlik?" inquired he, sternly.
"About a mile and a quarter from here," said the crooked-eyed man, pointing to a line of reeds.
"And must I return this way, or can I go along the bank?"