"Anyhow, if you hear my whistle sneak off at once, and run for your life."
"All right."
Uros disappeared; Milenko remained leaning against the bole of a tree. He could hardly be seen at the distance of some steps. Snatches of songs were now heard from afar; it was the drinking-song Vuk had been singing. The drunkards were returning home. Soon after this he heard the noise of steps coming on the road. Keeping a sharp look-out, his keen eyes recognised Radonic's stalwart though clumsy frame. He at once whistled to his friend, first in a low tone, then louder and louder, as he came out from his hiding-place and walked on to meet the enraged husband, and stop him on his way. Uros in the meanwhile took to his heels.
"Dobro vetchir, Radonic Marko," said Milenko to him. "How are you?"
"And who are you, so glib with your tongue?" answered Radonic, in a surly tone.
"What, do you not know the children of the place?"
"Children, nowadays, spring up like poisonous mushrooms after a wet night. How is one to know them?"
"Well, I am Milenko Markovic, Janko's son."
"Ah, I thought so," replied Radonic fiercely, clasping the haft of his knife. "Then what business have you to come prowling about my house, making me the laughing-stock of the whole place. But you'll not do so long."
Suiting the action to the words, he lifted up his knife and made a rush at the young man.