“You didn't come out then, Biełarecki. No matter. Anyoue else in your place would have died of fright. At first we thought that you got frightened, but the next day something occurred that couldn't be remedied. Śvieciłovič ran up against Varona who was on his way to recruit new men for the Hunt and he was late. And Śvieciłovič was just near to the paths that lead to the Reserve where our hiding-place is. And afterwards, spying on him, we saw that he met you in the forest, Biełarecki. Although at that time he didn't tell you anything (that was clear from your behaviour), we realised that we had to put an end to him. Dubatoŭk sent Śvieciłovič a letter to lure him out of the house. Half of our people were directed to the three pines. The other half — three old hunters and the newcomers — rode off to Marsh Firs. Dubatoŭk himself hurried over to you, stealing up to you from behind. But you had already managed to make a couple of shots, and our raw fellows, unused to shooting, took to their heels. And yet another surprising thing: Dubatoŭk got such a hard beating from you that he can't ride a horse yet and he is staying in the house. And he is at home today, so you fellows, beware. But you, Biełarecki, he fooled nicely. No sooner had you come to yourself, than you were already helping him to mount his horse. But with Śvieciłovič we were in luck. Varona was waiting for him, and when he appeared, said to him: “You've exposed the Wild Hunt, have you?” He spit at Varona. Varona shot him. And at that moment you appeared, shot at us and hit one fellow in the hand. And then you beat up a district police-officer, and you were summoned, not without our help, to the district centre. You probably don't know that you were to be arrested and put an end to. But you, you devil, were lucky, you turned out to be too clever, and the governor's letter made the judge refuse us his help. On his knees he begged Dubatoŭk to hurry up and shoot you. By the way, when Varona shot Śvieciłovič, he applied such a ruse that you'll never guess.”
“But why do you think so?” I said with indifference. “Dubatoŭk had torn out several pages from a journal at Janoŭskaja's, and he made wads from them. You thought that if I managed to escape alive from your paws, I'd suspect Bierman.”
Stachievič was scratching away at his chest, his crooked fingers resembling claws.
“You devil!” he cried hoarsely, choking. “We shouldn't have had anything to do with you. But who could have thought of that? Here they are, those who didn't think, lying here like sacks of excrement.”
Then he went on:
“And yet another mistake of ours. We kept a watch on you, but not on the serfs and Ryhor. While they found us out, got to our hide-out, our secret paths… And even at Raman's cross you were in luck, we killed a chick, letting you escape from our paws. We killed on the run, without stopping. And only later we returned to check. And even here we ran up against you like a bunch of fools. Then Haraburda disappeared, and we decided not to return home tonight until we caught you. So, here we have found you…”
“That'll do,” I said. “It's disgusting to hear you. And although you deserve the noose, we won't kill you. We've given our word. Later we'll investigate, and if you are very much to blame, we'll hand you over to the provincial court and if not — we'll let you go free.”
Hardly had I finished, when Stachievič suddenly pushed two of the mužyks away, tore off, and with exceptional swiftness made for the horses. With his foot he kicked in the belly the mužyk guarding the horses, threw himself into the saddle and started to gallop at full speed. He turned about on the way and shouted in a scathing tone.
“Just you wait for the trial in the provincial court! I'm off to Dubatoŭk's, he'll have the gentry of the whole region rise against you, you skunks, and we'll put an end to all of you. And you, you cad from the capital, there'll be no life for you and that loose woman of yours. But you, you stupid Michał, let it be known to you that it was me who trampled your brother to death, and you'll get the same.”
Michał turned the muzzle of his long gun and without taking aim pulled the trigger. Stachievič silently turned a somersault out of the saddle, rolled over several times on the ground and fell silent.
Michał came up to him, took the horse by the bit, shot Stachievič straight in the forehead. Then said severely to me:
“Go ahead, Chief. Your kindness to them was a bit too early. Away with kindness! The gypsy wedding will get along without marzipans. Go on, we'll catch up with you. Take the road to the Cold Hollow. And don't turn back to take a look.”
I left… And indeed, what right had I to be sentimental? If this bandit got to Dubatoŭk — they would overflow the whole region with blood. And Dubatoŭk must be captured all the sooner. Today, this very night, we must take him.
