“You must eat it with us,” said Toli, “and stay the night here.”
“No, for they expect me at home.”
“Will you start back at this hour?” put in Panu, Toli’s comrade. “The night brings many perils.”
It was getting quite dark. Stars twinkled. Whether he wished to or not, Mitu Tega was obliged to remain. Then the shepherds set to work; one put the lamb on to the spit, and lit the fire; the other fetched boughs from the wood. He brought whole branches with which they prepared a shelter for the night for Tega—within was a bed of green bracken. Then all three stretched themselves by the fire. Gradually the flames sank a little, on the heap of live coals the lamb began to brown, and spit with fat, and send out an appetizing smell. The moon shone through the bushes; they seemed to move beneath the hard, cold light which flooded the solitude. The shadows of the mountains stretched away indefinitely. Above, some night birds crossed unseen, flapping their wings. Mitu Tega turned his head. For a moment his glance was arrested: by Toli’s side, a gun and a long scimitar lay shining on the ground. He was not nervous, otherwise——He glanced at Toli.
“What a man!” thought Tega. “I have nothing to fear while I am with him.”
They began to eat, quickly and hungrily, tearing the meat with their fingers, not speaking a word. Toli picked up the shoulder-bone of the lamb, and drew near the fire, to scrutinize it, for some omen for the future.
“What’s the matter?” Tega asked.
“Nothing—only it seems to me—that there is blood everywhere, that blood pursues. Look, and you, too, Panu.”
“There is,” murmured Panu, “a little blood, one can see a spot, two red patches.”
The hours passed. The dogs started off towards the woods. From their bark there might be dangerous men on the move. Toli listened a moment, took his gun, and said quickly to Tega: