He lifted her, speaking to her gently; and turning to Simeon and his fellow-elder he ordered them to let the men fall in. "The heads of families only," he said; "let the women and young men stay here!"

"Stay here!" shrieked Xenia.

"Yes, why?" shouted the excited people. "Let every one follow who is able to lift a gun."

"My orders shall be obeyed," cried Taras, drawing himself up in their midst. "I pledge my head that I shall do my duty!" These words of his were like magic, the people yielded, and the procession formed.

But at this juncture a.n.u.sia pressed through the crowd, her youngest child on her left arm, her right hand brandishing a musket. "Take it!"

she cried, offering it to her husband; "it is my father's gun and never yet missed fire!"

"Go home, wife," said Taras, "this is not woman's business, I go unarmed."

"Why? why?" yelled the people; but she caught him by the shoulder in wildest excitement. "Taras!" she screamed, "let me not regret that I was saved from the river! It is a man to whom I yielded, and not to a coward!"

"For heaven's sake, woman," cried Simeon, aghast, "you know not what you are saying!"

But she continued: "He who would have peace, since blood has been shed, disgraces his manhood. Will you allow yourself to be killed without striking a blow, lamb that you are?"

Taras stood proudly upright, but his face was livid, his eyes were sunk. His breast heaved with the tumult within, but not a word pa.s.sed his lips. Thus silently he held out his hand, motioning the woman aside, and she obeyed, confounded.

"Men of Zulawce," he said at last, slowly and distinctly, but with a voice which, from its strange huskiness, no one would have recognised as his, "I speak not now of the dishonour my wife has put upon me; I shall do that by-and-by, in your presence likewise. But now I ask you, will you obey me as your judge, or will you not? Once again, I pledge my head that I shall do my duty!"

"We will," they cried unanimously.

"Then let us go." And the procession started, some sixty men, heads of families, following Taras, who led the way with the two elders, Simeon and Alexa Sembrow, his own successor.

The field in question, the common property of the community, was an irregular square, sloping towards the river, its upper boundary being a coppice which also belonged to the parish. A large black cross rose in the centre.

On stepping from the coppice, through which their road lay, the peasants could overlook the field at a glance. The mandatar with his men had established himself by the cross; he evidently had hired reinforcements, for they numbered some forty. At the lower end of the field, by the river, two of his labourers were seen ploughing with a yoke of oxen; another team stood ready for use by the cross. On the upper part, near the coppice, lay the body of the slain youth, evidently dragged thither by Hajek's men. But when the peasants beheld the corpse, and the armed band below, their fury knew no bounds; a thundering "Urrahah!" burst from them, and they pressed forward.

But Taras was before them, s.n.a.t.c.hing at Simeon's pistol and turning it against his own forehead. "Stop!" he cried with a voice that could not but be listened to. "Another step, and I shall kill myself before your eyes."

They fell back, hesitating; but they obeyed.

The mandatar's men meanwhile prepared for fight, Mr. Wenceslas himself hiding behind them. He let his under-steward be spokesman in his stead, a huge fellow from Bochnia, Boleslaw Stipinski, by name.

"What do you want?" roared this giant; "are you for fighting or for peaceful speech?"

"We have come to defend our right," shouted Taras.

"Your wrong, you mean," retained Boleslaw. "But no matter, we stand on our master's soil, and shall yield it only with our lives. Mr. Hajek is prepared to affirm this to the judge and elders, if they will step forward."

Taras was ready to parley, being followed by Simeon and Alexa. They found the mandatar crouching on a stone, some of his men lifting their guns behind him.

"Tell them to put away their firelocks," said Taras, quietly; "you need not tremble like that; if it were for fight, we had been here sooner."

"Then you are peaceably inclined?" inquired Hajek.

"If you will own yourself in the wrong, offering some atonement for the crime committed."

"And if not?"

"Then we must refer the matter to the court of the district."

The mandatar recovered himself; he even smiled. "Perhaps that will not be necessary," he said. "You are a sensible law-abiding man, Taras, and I daresay you will understand my view of the case quickly enough. You know that in the days of the Emperor Joseph a survey of the property was taken. I have the papers, and therein it is plainly put down: 'The boundary of the parish field is marked by the coppice on the one side, by the black cross on the other; beyond the cross as far as the river the soil belongs to the Count.' So you see I am ent.i.tled to claim for my master that part of this field which beyond a doubt is his."

"No," cried Taras; "for when the survey was taken, and until fifteen years ago, the black cross stood close by the river, leaving a footpath for the Count who has always had the fishing in the Pruth. When the old cross was weatherworn the parish erected a new one in the centre of the field. That, sir, is the plain truth."

"May be," returned Hajek, smiling. "I suppose that would be a question for the magistrates to look into; in the meantime, I shall act upon the evidence of my own eyes. It was natural that I should request the men I found ploughing here to take themselves off. They fired their guns and killed one of my men; what could we do but fire ours? and I shall keep the two yoke of oxen to indemnify the Count for his loss. There, I have done."

"But we have not," said Taras, solemnly, baring his head. "I call the Almighty to witness that we are grievously wronged! And I protest that we could never own you in the right! It is in obedience to our Lord the Emperor, and in obedience to the law of G.o.d that we have refrained from violence. But both the Emperor and the Almighty will see us righted!"

"Well done!" said the mandatar, with a sneer. "This is a finer flourish than ever fell from the lips of Father Martin; the pope might fairly be jealous of you!"

Taras felt outraged; but he repressed the reproof that rose to his lips, and moved away in silence.

"Well!" cried the peasants when their leaders returned to them; "does he yield? or will you permit us now to offer him proof of our right after our own fashion?"

"No!" said Taras, "you shall follow me back to the village; we must convene a public meeting. But, first, we must carry the dead man into his mother's house, and you, Simeon, meanwhile, ask his reverence to join us with the Host."

"But what if I find him incapable?" objected the elder.

"No matter, it will not affect that which is holy."

Within an hour the community had a.s.sembled under the shade of the lime tree, outside the village inn. Father Martin, too, had arrived in full vestments, carrying the pix. It being yet early in the day, the elder was fortunate in finding him in his right mind.

But before Taras opened the meeting he had a domestic matter to settle.

His wife lay at his feet, and her repentance was as pa.s.sionate as her wrath had been.

"Trample upon me," she wept; "cast me from you, I have fully deserved it!"

But Taras lifted her up--kissed her. "I forgive it," he said, "but not again!"

And then he went to speak to the people: "There is not a shadow of a doubt as to our right," he said, "and therefore the district court will be on our side. Self-avenging yields tears and bloodshed only, and is likely to leave us in the wrong. I shall start this very day for Colomea to demand justice against the mandatar, and you shall swear to me now that you will keep the peace while I am gone."

Father Martin elevated the Host, and the men, kneeling, took the oath.

By noon Taras had set out on his way. He had taken his best horse and borrowed another on the road, but the distance being a good fifty miles he could not reach the town before noon the following day. A courier from the mandatar had forestalled him.

The district governor, therefore, Herr Ferdinand von Bauer, a comfortable elderly gentleman, was not exactly pleased to see the village judge, and would have none of his statements. "I know all about it already," he said, "there is no need to repeat it." But Taras insisted on substantiating his charge with fall particulars, which appeared to differ from the account that had been rendered to the governor. Anyhow this comfortable gentleman began to shake his head, and to pace the floor of his office. At last he pulled up in front of the peasant, examining his face. "Is this the truth you are giving me?"

he demanded gruffly.

Taras met his glance fully. "It is the truth," he said solemnly, "so help me G.o.d!"

"Humph! humph!" was all the answer vouchsafed, and the governor again fell to pacing the floor, till after a while he once more stood still in front of Taras. "Be hanged, both of you!" he said amiably. "I mean both lord of the manor and peasantry. Can't you ever keep the peace! A nice thing to have to arbitrate between you by way of resting one's old bones!" To be a district governor in Galicia, to his idea, plainly was not a bed of roses. "Go back to your people," he continued more gently, "I am unable to decide from a distance, but will send a commissioner to take evidence on the spot. Meanwhile, you can bury your dead, since we cannot bring them back to life, whatever we finally decide."

The judge returned quieted. The peace of the village had been kept, in spite of the towering rage of the peasants at having to stand by and let the mandatar till the field that was not his. The part beyond the cross, which Hajek left to the villagers, was ploughed and sown presently by Taras's men. "A man of the law will soon be here," he comforted himself and others, "and then we shall be righted."