But if Simplex had not helped to shove on the sledge they would not have got so far as this.
"Pray let us go on a little further," said the clergyman. He was walking along moodily by the side of the sledge. No one was inside it but Michal.
The sun had set. Its scarlet glare still lit up the summits of the distant Carpathians, but the only objects which they illuminated here below were one or two mansions scattered among the hills, the gates of the city, and a large, lonely building standing outside the walls. The walls and roof of this building shone blood-red in the evening twilight, but from the huge chimney issued volumes of pitch-black smoke. Glowing red clouds, betokening wind, accompanied the setting sun, and a flock of crows which had been startled from their resting-place flew, loudly croaking, out of the woods toward the town as forerunners of the approaching storm.
The flock of crows alighted on a dismal-looking scaffolding, which stood on a hill on this side of the red house. It consisted of roofless columns rising gauntly out of a square mass of masonry and united by four iron bars. From each of these four columns a huge iron hook boldly projected. The crows settled down in thick clusters on the iron bars. Nowhere in the whole region was a tree, a shrub, or any asylum for man or beast to be seen.
"Whatever can that be?" thought Michal.
Simplex and the wagoner dragged the horses forward. Henry walked beside the sledge, and held it fast with one hand to prevent it from toppling over.
"Whither are we to go now?" growled the wagoner. "We must pass the night outside here, I suppose. There is no shelter anywhere, and during the night the witches will do us a mischief."
"There are no such things as witches," remarked Henry dryly.
"But I say there are. I'm sure of it. Barbara Pirka is certainly a witch. They assemble here at midnight."
"Silence!" cried Henry sternly, and with that he seized the reins of the horses and began to lead them away from the road.