"No," said Taras, "that were losing time. The Wilchowec must be fordable somewhere. I saw a light burning in the cottage we just passed. I will go for a guide."
And, followed by two or three of his men, he galloped back and halted in front of a lighted window. In a low-ceiled room a peasant was seen sitting beside his wife, showing her delightedly a handful of silver coin. It was an elderly man, white-haired, and with a rubicund countenance. "Hail, old fellow!" cried Taras, tapping at the window.
The peasant started, extinguishing the torchlight inside the room, while the woman screamed, and then all was still.
"There is no cause for alarm!" cried Taras, "we beg a kindness of you, that is all."
"What, so late at night," said the peasant within. "Have the goodness to let us sleep in peace."
"You have not been asleep yet," Taras called back, growing impatient. "You were counting your earnings. There is no fear of our robbing you; indeed, I will add to your gains if you show us the place where the river can be forded."
"Why should you want to ford it, when there is a bridge not more than a mile distant, down stream? You cannot miss it, since the hussars there are keeping a good watch fire."
"The hussars!" cried Taras, startled.
"Yes, the hussars," repeated the peasant. "You don't seem to like it. And I must say it would not be advisable for highwaymen to try to cross the bridge to-night."
"Listen," said Taras, who had recovered himself. "I am not a highwayman, and I take you to be an honest peasant. So I will ask you to guide us. I want you--I am Taras, the avenger."