At length the neighbors came hurrying in and then there was noise and confusion. House and yard were filled with people, moving about and asking questions.
In the middle of the kitchen, or rather the living room, stood a young, vigorous man, with the belt and head-covering such as are worn here. He wore very wide trousers, and shoes. That was Trino. Around him the crowd surged. He did not speak and seemed greatly excited. Zivko, covered with blood and wounds, was rubbing his neck. Stana, white as a piece of linen, was standing in one corner. She evidently could not pull herself together from the fright.
Then the head man of the village arrived, the clerk with a gun and a bottle of ink, and the school master with the broken leg of a chair.
“What’s the trouble?”
Zivko was scratching his back.
“This is it—that criminal Nicodemus has fallen upon the village—and our house. And if it had not been for him—he points to Trino—I would have lost my head and God only knows what would have happened.”
“Where are they? Follow me, people, with your weapons! Let’s pursue them. Quick! Catch them!” shrieked the town clerk.
“They have escaped,” was the reply.
“By the devil’s mother one escaped—the others were caught,” explained Trino.
He pointed to the door of my room.