Next day the king called the mayor into his presence and threatened him: “What meanest thou; art making sport of me? ’Tis clear thy head is not dear to thee. Do what thou pleasest, but find means of putting Fedot to a cruel death.”
“Let me think, your Majesty; we may mend matters.” The mayor went his way, betook himself to back lanes and waste places, met the Baba-Yaga.
“Stop, servant of the king! I know thy thoughts: dost wish I will help thee in trouble?”
“Oh, help me, grandmother! Fedot has brought the deer with golden horns.”
“Oh, I have heard that already. It would be as easy to put Fedot out of the way as to take a pinch of snuff, for he is simple; but his wife is terribly cunning. Well, we’ll give them another riddle that they will not solve so quickly. Tell the king to send the sharpshooter to the verge of destruction and bring back Shmat-Razum,—that’s a task he will not accomplish to all eternity; he will either be lost without tidings, or come back empty-handed.”
The mayor rewarded the old witch with gold and hurried to the king, who heard him and summoned Fedot.
“Fedot,” said the king, “thou art a hero, the best shot I have. Thou hast brought me the deer with golden horns, now thou must do me another service; and if thou wilt not do it, I have a sword, and thy head leaves thy shoulders. Thou must go to the verge of destruction and bring back Shmat-Razum.”
Fedot turned to the left, walked out of the palace, went home sad and thoughtful.
“My dear,” asked his wife, “why art thou sad, has some misfortune happened?”
“Ah,” said he, “one woe has rolled from my neck and another rolled on! The king sends me to the verge of destruction to bring back Shmat-Razum. For thy beauty I bear all this trouble and care.”