Now, he was ploughing one day at the edge of the woods with the two cows, when, from wherever it came, a six-horse coach stood before him, and in it sat no other than the King of the Crows, who found this to say to the poor man,—
“Listen, poor man; I will tell thee one thing, and two will come of it. Sell me those lean cows; I’ll give thee good money for them. I’ll pay double price. My army hasn’t tasted a morsel for three days, and the soldiers will die of hunger and thirst unless thou wilt save them.”
“If that’s the case,” said the poor man to the King of the Crows, “if it be that thy Highness’s army hasn’t eaten anything for three days, I don’t mind the difficulty. I’ll let thee have the cows, not for money; let thy Highness return a cow for a cow.”
“Very good, poor man, let it be as thou sayest. I will give thee a cow for a cow; more than that, for two thou wilt get four cows. For that purpose find me in my kingdom, for I am the King of the Crows. Thou hast but to look in the north for the black castle; thou’lt be sure to find it.”
With that the King of the Crows vanished as if he had never been there,—as if the earth had swallowed him. The poor man kept on ploughing with the two lean cows, till, all at once, the army of the King of the Crows appeared like a black cloud approaching through the air, with mighty cawing, and seizing the two cows tore them bit from bit. When they had finished, the dark legions with tumultuous cawing moved on their way like a cloud. The poor man watched the direction in which they flew so that he might know the way.
Now he strolled home in great sadness, took leave of his two handsome sons and his dear wife, in the midst of bitter tears, and set out into the world to find the black castle. He travelled and journeyed over forty-nine kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea and the glass mountains, and beyond that, where the little short-tailed pig roots, and beyond that, and still farther on, till he came to an ocean-great sand-plain.
Nowhere for gold was a town, a village, or a cabin to be seen where he might recline his head for a night’s rest, or beg a morsel of bread or a cup of water. Food had long since left his bag, and he might have struck fire in the gourd[5] which hung at his side. What was he to do? Where could he save his life? Here he must perish of hunger and thirst in the midst of this ocean-great desert, and then at home let them wait for him till the day of Judgment. Here the poor man’s power of walking decreased, and he floundered about like a dazed fish, like a man struck on the head. While stumbling along he sees on a sudden a shepherd’s fire.
[5] A pilgrim bottle made of a dried, long-necked gourd.
He moves towards the light, creeping on all fours. At last he arrives there with great difficulty, and sees that three or four men are lying around the fire, boiling kasha in a pot. He salutes them with, “God give you a good evening.”
“God receive thee, poor man; how is it that thou art journeying in this strange land where even a bird does not go?”