"Surely nobles."
"Do they live here?"
"Sometimes here, and sometimes God knows where."
"But the horses, whence are they?"
"God knows whence they bring them."
"Tell the truth; do thy masters not rob on the highway?"
"Do I know? It seems to me they take horses, but whose, — that's not on my head."
"What do they do with the horses?"
"Sometimes they take ten or twelve of them, as many as there are, and drive them away, but whither I know not."
Thus conversing, they reached the shed, from which was heard the snorting of horses.
"Hold the light," said Soroka.
The fellow raised the lantern, and threw light on the horses standing in a row at the wall. Soroka examined them one after another with the eye of a specialist, shook his head, smacked his lips, and said, —
"The late Pan Zend would have rejoiced. There are Polish and Muscovite horses here, — there is a Wallachian, a German, — a mare. Fine horses ! What dost thou give them to eat?"
"Not to lie, my master, I sowed two fields with oats in springtime."
"Then thy masters have been handling horses since spring?"
"No, but they sent a servant to me with a command."
"Then art thou theirs?"
"I was till they went to the war."
"What war?"
"Do I know? They went far away last year, and came back in the summer."
"Whose art thou now?"
"These are the king's forests."
"Who put thee here to make pitch?"
"The royal forester, a relative of these men, who also brought horses with them; but since he went away once with them, he has not come back."
"And do guests come to these men?"
"Nobody comes here, for there are swamps around, and only one road. It is a wonder to me that ye could come, my master; for whoso does not strike the road, will be drawn in by the swamp."
