Taras and his men burst upon the scene. The people, shrieking, ran hither and thither. The corporal gave the word, "Fire!" Milko fell from his horse, shot to the heart, and Nashko reeled in his saddle. Another moment and the soldiers were disarmed and cut down to a man.
Some of the band were left to guard the door, the others, following Taras, rushed into the building to seek the mandatar. The first-floor was utterly deserted, but at the top of the stairs two venerable figures awaited them, the burgomaster and the senior priest, falling on their knees. "Have mercy!" they pleaded, "the mandatar is not in the place."
"Where is he, then?"
"We cannot tell. If we knew, we would give him up to you, that other lives might be spared. He fainted in the fields, and maybe is lying there still. The groom who was to accompany him ran on alone to warn us of your coming."
"Can you swear it is so?"
They affirmed it on their oath.
"Then all the night's work has been for nothing!" cried Taras. "To seek him in the open fields would be useless, and the hussars may be back at any moment."
The signal was given, the outlaws mounted and dashed away with the same amazing rapidity with which they had come.