The shouts and discharges of musketry began to recede in the direction of the field and the first forest.
"Ah, ah!" thought Zagloba, "they are on their necks. Oh, dog-brothers, you could not hold out! Praise be to God in the highest!"
The shouts receded farther and farther.
"They ride lustily," muttered he. "But I see that I shall have to sit in this ditch. It only remains now for the wolves to eat me. Bogun to begin with, then the Tartars, and wolves at the end! God grant a stake to Bogun and madness to the wolves! Our men will take care of the Tartars not in the worst fashion. Pan Michael! Pan Michael!"
Silence gave answer to Zagloba; only the pines murmured, and from afar came the sounds fainter and fainter.
"Shall I lie down to sleep here, or what? May the devil take it! Pan Michael!"
But Zagloba's patience had a long trial yet, for dawn was in the sky when the clatter of hoofs was heard again on the road and lights shone in the forest.
"Pan Michael, I am here!"
"Crawl out."
"But I cannot."