hands. His warriors followed him with desperate venom. On the right, where it was easier, despite the superior and growing force of the enemy, the line of Mongols was weakest and their own position of defense the strongest. They turned, made a furious charge and put the flanks before them to flight.
“After them, drive them before you!” Maxim’s shouted encouragement continued as he rushed forward with his bloody pole-axe to strike the rear of the Mongols. His comrades pressed after him and the retreat of the Mongols soon turned into a panicky, headlong dash, the youths pursuing, hewing them down one after the other. Before them was an open plain and a short distance from it a dusky, fragrant forest. If only they could reach its protection, then no Mongolian army no matter how great could best them there.
“Forward, comrades, forward, towards the woods!” shouted Maxim and breathlessly, silently, bloody and terrible, like savage beasts the youths drove before them the retreating Mongols in the direction of the forest.
Tuhar Wolf, noting their goal, roared with laughter. “Good-bye! Pleasant journey!” he shouted after the youths. “We will see you later!”
Along the plain overlooking the Opir river rolled three clouds of dust following three groups of people running after each other. The first group were the panic-stricken Mongols, in hot pursuit came the Tukholian youths under the leadership of Maxim and following them ran the main Mongolian force led by Tuhar Wolf. Another contingent of Mongols, which soon disappeared from view without being noticed by the youths in the heat of their mad pursuit, had been sent out earlier by Tuhar Wolf, over the hill, to overtake the youths.
Suddenly the fleeing Mongols halted. Before them appeared an unexpected barrier, a deep defile carved out of the precipitous, solid rock, the beginning of the Tukholian trail. In that place the walls were of sheerest smoothness, almost two
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