But nobody had seen anything of the panther; and had it not been for their respect for the green boots with their trimmings they would probably have laughed in his face when the Lieutenant put that question.
There was still one small Wallachian village, Marisel, far away in the mountains. Beyond that began the territorial jurisdiction of Banfy, and the Lieutenant's authority was at an end. There too the deserter followed him.
CHAPTER XI
SANGA-MOARTA
The Lieutenant and his comrade had already been more than twelve hours in the wilderness of Batrina on their way to Marisel. Clement asked everybody he met if the village were not near, always receiving the same answer that it was still some distance farther. Now and then they met a Wallachian peasant with an ox-team; the man shouting to his lazy beasts, trying to goad them into a quicker gait. Then there was a pool to wade through, where a half-naked, picturesque company of gypsies washing the gold out of the sand, stared at the questioning strangers like wild beasts. Sometimes along the road there would be the picture of a saint in the mossy hollow of a tree, with only the dull gilding left of the weather-beaten paint. In the natural niche there would be the pomana,—a pitcher of spring water which some young Wallachian girl, as an act of piety, had placed there for thirsty travelers.
The way led them through valleys and over heights, and the greater part of their way they had to lead their horses by the bridle instead of riding. On all sides was the forest, tall, slender beeches mingled with dark green firs.
In one place they came to a fork of the roads; one way led along the valley and the other to the top of a bald, steep mountain with out-jetting cliff.
"Which way now?" said Clement. "I have never been so far."
"Take the traveled road," replied Zulfikar. "Only a fool would climb this steep height. It probably leads to some foundry."
Clement looked doubtfully around him. Suddenly he caught sight of a man seated on the rock overhanging the road. He was a young Wallachian with white face and long curling hair; his leather coat was open on his breast and his cap lay beside him on the ground. There he sat, bent over on the edge of the high cliff dangling his feet in the air, with his stony face in his hands gazing out into the distance.