"And in the pastures they fight with our men. Father has forbidden us to go to the Tartar camp, for whoever goes there is lost."
"They say there are disguised Poles among the market-men. I wish this war had never begun."
"It is worse this time than before."
"The king is not far away, with the Polish forces. That is the worst!"
"Ha, ha! You would be sleeping in the Saitch at this hour; now you have got to push around in the dark like a vampire."
"There must be vampires here, for the horses are snorting."
Their voices receded gradually, and at last were silent. Pan Longin rose and went on.
A rain fine as mist began to fall. It grew still darker. On the left side of Pan Longin gleamed at the distance of two furlongs a small light; after that a second, a third, and a tenth. Then he knew he was on the line of the tabor. The lights were far apart and weak. It was evident that all were sleeping, and only here and there might they be drinking or preparing food for the morrow.
"Thank God that I am out after the storm and the sally," said Pan Longin to himself. "They must be mortally weary."
He had scarcely thought this when he heard again in the distance the tramp of horses,--another patrol was coming. But the ground in this place was more broken; therefore it was easier to hide. The patrol passed so near that the guards almost rode over Pan Longin. Fortunately the horses, accustomed to pass among prostrate bodies, were not frightened. Pan Longin went on.