from under him. Down he fell like a stack of hay, but as he fell he was able to move his quiver so that the fiery darts with their streaming blue fire pointed directly heavenwards. As he lay there Falcon the Hunter planted himself upon his breast and struck at him with a flashing dagger of steel. But the blow fell upon the upturned points of those wonderful darts and spent itself on the broad bosom of moist Mother Earth.
"See!" cried Ilya with a grim laugh. "It was foretold of me that I should not die in battle. Oh, brave good youth, tell me from what horde you come and who were your parents."
"It is time," growled Falcon the Hunter, "that you should shave your head and go to a monastery." At this taunt the heart of Ilya grew hot and his blood, still youthful, boiled within him. With a mighty blow of his fist he struck Falcon on his black breast, hurling him skywards, though not so high as the heavy clouds which lowered above the heroic fight. When the Hunter fell once more, Ilya sprang to his nimble feet and sat in his turn upon the breast of his enemy.
"Tell me now, good youth," he said, "the name of thy land, thy horde, and thy father."
"When I sat upon thy breast," growled Falcon the Hunter, "I did not enquire of thee thy land, thy horde, and thy parentage, for these things concern not me, the enemy of all mankind. And if I sat upon it again I would pierce your bosom, pluck out your heart and examine it in mere curiosity, and
