"Strike him, God!" muttered the csikós in an agony of grief. "Do not leave the man unpunished who has plucked another's rose for himself. Did I kill him, I know his mother would weep!"
The horse lashed the ground with his tail, as had his master's rage been transmitted to him.
"But how can I kill him? He is over the hills and far away by now! And you are not able, my poor Vidám, to fly all over the kingdom with me. No, you must stay here with me in my trouble."
Nothing Vidám could do indeed could alter the situation. So he signified his acquiescence in the harsh decree of fate by lying down and stretching out his great head and neck.
But the csikós would not let him turn his thoughts to slumber, he had yet something to tell him. A smacking of the lips, very like a kiss, aroused the horse.
"Don't sleep yet. . . . . I'm not sleeping. We'll have time enough some day when we take our long rest! . . . . Till then we'll keep together we two. . . . . Never shall you leave your master. . . . . Never will he part with you, not though they offer him your weight in gold . . . . my one faithful friend! Do you know how you caught hold of my waistcoat and helped the doctor to lift me up from the ground when I lay on the puszta as good as dead, with the eagles shrieking over me? You seized my clothes with your teeth, and raised me, you did! . . . . Yes? . . . . You know all about it? . . . . my darling! Do not fear, we will never cross the Hortobágy bridge again, never turn in at the Hortobágy inn. . . . . I swear it, here, by the starry sky, that never, never, never will I step over the threshold where that false girl dwells. . . . . May the stars cease to shine on me, if I break my word——"
At this great oath the horse stood up on his fore-feet, and sat like a dog on his hindquarters.
"But don't think we will grow old here," went on the csikós, "we are not going to stick for ever on this meadow-land. When I was a little child I saw beautiful tri-colour banners waving, and splendid Hussars dashing after them. . . . . How I envied them! . . . . Then later, I saw those same Hussars dying and wounded, and the beautiful tri-colour flag dragged through the mire, . . . . but that will not always last. There will come a day when we will bring out the old flag from under the eaves, and ride after it, brave young lads, to crack the bones of those wicked Cossacks! And you will come with me, my good old horse, at the trumpet's call."
As if he heard the trumpet sounding, Vidám sprang up, pawed the turf with his forefeet, and, with mane bristling and head erect, neighed into the night. Like the outposts of the camp, all the stallions on the puszta neighed back an answer.
"There we'll put an end to this business! . . . . There we'll heal the sorrow and the bitterness, though not by shedding tears! Not the poisoned glass of a faithless maid, nor her more poisonous kisses will destroy this body of mine, but the swordthrust of a worthy foe. Then as I lie on the bloody battle-field, you will be there, standing beside me, and watching over me, till they come to bury me."