"Well, then, listen again. I cannot hinder you from taking my wife and my children to prison, or even from taking their lives. But I tell you this: on the day you make good those threats, it will become my first and highest and most sacred duty to rid the land of the worst of evil-doers--of you, the so-called guardians of the law. Woe to any of you, then, who may fall into my hands! I shall have you hanged, every one, on these trees of ours...."
"Oh, no, not me--for pity's sake! I was always trying----"
"Well, hanging might be too good for you," said Taras, sternly. "I knew you were an abject coward, but this is worse even than the name you bear.... I regret to send you with an honest man's message. For there is yet another matter to speak about--and you shall tell them I have sworn to you a sacred oath that there is no deceit nor cunning in my request, but pity for the people alone. I earnestly pray the authorities to withdraw the soldiers from Zulawce. The hussars have done mischief enough already, and the infantry may do worse if they stay. There is no need of military occupation, for I give you my word that I shall not enter the village, not even if I knew the mandatar to be at the manor. I should bide my time to get hold of him elsewhere. Let me repeat it. I shall never set foot within the parish of Zulawce if my request be granted; and since the man lives not who could say that Taras ever broke his word, perhaps even you will believe me."
"Oh!--certainly--yes. I myself----"
"Stop your talking! This, then, is the message you shall bear; but I have a word for yourself also. See that you keep from lying in delivering my message, for the truth sooner or later will come to be known; and if ever I find that you altered one single word of what I have told you, I shall----"
"For pity's sake! I'll never alter a single letter!"
"Well, we shall see. I said I would not harm you in limb or life; but since you have shown yourself such a mean, craven coward, it is meet you should suffer punishment--that punishment which within these mountains is reserved for such meanness;" and, turning to his men, "Cut off his hair!" he said.
"Ah--pity!" groaned Kapronski, but it availed him not. He found himself held fast with a merciless grip, while Sophron made short work of the commissioner's well-oiled locks, leaving his head like a field of stubble in the dreary autumn.
"Now tie him to his horse again," said Taras, "blindfolding him as before."
It was done.