Yes, the sooner we put an end to him, the better. We just had to do it. He, alone, is more dangerous than ten Wild Hunts. It's well that during our fight I deprived him for a while of the possibility of riding his horse, for otherwise it would have been tough for us. He would not have placed himself right in front of a bullet, he would not have split up his detachment, — he would have run us down like kittens with his horse's hoofs, and we'd have been lying now at the bottom of the Gap with our eyes put out.
“Ryhor, send seven men here. Have them break down the door of the entrance, while I'll try to tear off a board from the shed and make an unexpected attack on him from there. But see to it, everybody together…”
“Perhaps we could pretend we are the Hunt and knock at the window, and when he opens it, we'll grab him. He's sent his relatives somewhere, he's at home alone,” Ryhor suggested.
“Nothing will come of that. He's a sly fox.”
“Nevertheless, let's have a try. You understand, a pity to lose so much blood…”
“See that it doesn't turn out to be for the worse,” I said, shaking my head.
The horses were led up to the house. I was happy to see Dubatoŭk's face in the window brightening up. He went up to the door with a candlelight, but suddenly stopped, stood stock-still, on his face a puzzled expression. In a twinkling he blew out the candle and the room was drowned in darkness. The plan had fallen through.
“Come on, fellows,” I shouted. “Break down the door!” Hasty footfalls and cries were heard. They began breaking down the. door, beating it with something heavy. And a shot rang out from the attic. Following upon the shot there resounded a voice full of fury.
“Surrounded! Just wait, you dogs! The gentry does not give in so easily!”
And from another window in the attic a cone of bullets came flying. Dubatoŭk was running, evidently, from one window to another, shooting at the advancing attackers from all sides.
“Oho! He must have a whole arsenal there,” Ryhor said quietly.
His words were interrupted by yet another shot. A young fellow, standing beside me, fell on the ground with a hole in his head. Dubatoŭk shot better than the best hunter in Paleśsie. And yet another shot.
“Flatten yourselves against the walls!” I shouted. “The bullets won't reach there.”
The bullets of our men, standing behind the trees, broke off the boards from the attic and the plastering. It was impossible to guess at which window Dubatoŭk would appear. Our victory promised to be a Pyrrhic one.
“Andrej!” Dubatoŭk's voice thundered. “You, too, will get what's coming to you. You devils have come after my soul, but you'll be giving up your own.”
“Light the torches,” I commanded. “Throw them onto the roof.”
In the twinkling of an eye scores of fires burst out surrounding the house. Some of them describing an arc in the air, fell on the roof and sprayed tar, and tongues of flames were gradually reaching the windows of the attic. In answer to this, a howl was heard:
“Forty against one! And using fire! What nobility!”
“Be quiet!” I shouted. “Sending 20 bandits against one girl — that's nobility? There they are, your Hunters, lying in the quagmire and you will be there, too.”
In answer a bullet clicked at my head, striking against the plaster.
Dubatoŭk's house was ablaze. Moving farther away from the walls of the house, I made for the trees and almost perished: a bullet from King Stach sang at my ear. My hair even stirred.
Flames penetrated into the attic, and there, in the fire, guns loaded in good time, of themselves began to shoot. Our minds set at ease, we had left the house behind, now that it had become a candle, when suddenly the fellow near the horses began to shout. We looked in his direction and saw Dubatoŭk creeping out from his dungeon, over a hundred metres away from the house.
“Ah!” Ryhor gritted his teeth. “We forgot that a fox always has an extra passage in his burrow.”
And Dubatoŭk ran in loops in the direction of the Giant's Gap. His right hand was hanging. We had, obviously, given the skunk a good treat.
He raced at a surprising rate for a man as stout as he. I shot from my revolver — far off. A whole volley from my people like water off a duck's back Dubatoŭk crossed a small meadow, leaped rashly into a bog and began to jump from hummock to hummock like a grasshopper. Finding himself at a safe distance, he threatened us with his fist.
“Beware, you rats!” his frightful voice came flying to us. “Not one of you shall remain alive. I swear in the name of the gentry, I swear by my blood to slaughter you together with your children.”
We were stunned. But at this moment such a loud whistle was heard that it deafened my ears. And I saw a young fellow sticking a bunch of stinging dry thistle into one of the horses right under his tail. And again a piercing whistle…
