By the time Milenko came in sight of the two men, they had begun to fight in real earnest; blows followed blows, kicks kicks; the Slav —or rather, Turk—roused by the stranger's taunts, seemed to be getting over his drunkenness. He was a tall, powerful man, and Milenko saw him grip his adversary by his neck. Then the two men grappled with each other, reeled in their struggle, then rolled down on the ground. He heard the thud of their fall. Milenko hastened to try and separate them. As he got nearer he could see them clearly, for the light of the moon fell upon them. The stronger man was holding his adversary pinned down, and was muttering the same curses over and over again; but he did not seem to be ill-using him very much.
"Leave me alone," muttered the other, "or, by my faith, it'll be so much the worse for you!"
"Your faith! you have no faith, you dog of a giaour!" growled the other.
"I have no faith, have I? Well, then, here, if I have no faith!"
Milenko, for a moment, saw a knife glitter in the moonlight, then it disappeared. He heard at the same time a loud groan. He ran up to help the man from being murdered, regardless of his own safety.
The powerful man was trying to snatch the knife from his adversary's hand, but, as he was unable to do so, he rose, holding his side, from which the blood was rushing.
"Now you'll have your money!" said the little man, with a hideous laugh, and he lifted up his hand and stabbed his adversary repeatedly.
Milenko pulled out his own knife as he reached the spot, but he only got in time to catch the dying man in his arms and to be covered with his blood.
The murderer simply looked at his adversary, and hearing him breathe his last, "He's done for," he added; then he turned on his heels and disappeared.
Poor Milenko was stunned for a moment, as he heard the expiring man's death-rattle.