At these words the cowboy felt as if he had been shot through the heart.
"How was it? Well, pretty little Klárika there peppered the stew she was making him with crows' claws."
"I know otherwise," interrupted the ginger-bread baker. "Little Klári put datura in the honeymead—the stuff they use for stupefying fish."
"Well, of course, the gentleman must know best, for he has a gold watch chain! They sent for the regimental surgeon from Újváros to dissect the deceased csikós, and he found the claws in his inside. They put them in spirits, to be produced as evidence at the trial!"
"So you have killed the poor fellow! We didn't hear he died from the poison, only went mad, and was sent up to Buda to have a hole bored in his head, for all the strength of the poison had gone there."
"Sent him up to Buda, did they? Sent him underground, you mean! Why, my wife herself spoke to the very maker of imitation flowers who made those strewn over Decsi's shroud. That is a fact!"
"Now, now! Mistress Csikmak is here with her fried meat, and as she came a day later from Debreczin, she must know the truth. Let us call her in."
But Mistress Csikmak, being unable to leave her frizzling pan, could only give her opinion through the window. She, likewise, buried the poisoned csikós. The Debreczin clerk had chanted over his grave, and the priest had preached a farewell sermon.
"And what happened to the girl?" inquired three voices at once.
"The girl! She ran off with her lover—a cowboy; by whose advice she poisoned the csikós. They are setting up a robber band together."