Kobita, a good Cossack and a young one, too, fought with one of the bravest Polish warriors, and long was their fight. They were already hand to hand: the Cossack got the uppermost, and, after throwing down his adversary, plunged his sharp Turkish knife into his breast; but he took no heed of himself, and on the very spot a hot bullet struck him on the temple. He who killed him was one of the most notable among the lords; a handsome knight of ancient and princely descent. Slim as a poplar, he rode on his chestnut steed. Many were the noble knightly feats he had already accomplished; two Zaporoghians had he hewn in twain; Theodore Korj, a good Cossack, had he thrown on the dust with his horse; he shot the horse, and pierced the Cossack under it with his spear; many heads, many hands had he hewn down; he had killed the Cossack Kobita by sending a bullet through his temple. "This is the man with whom I should wish to try my strength!" cried Kookoobenko, the ataman of the Nezamaikovskoï kooren; and spurring his horse, he rushed up close behind him and gave a fearful howl, which made all around shudder. The Pole tried to turn his horse round to confront his foe; but the horse would not turn: terrified by the fearful shriek, it dashed aside, and Kookoobenko fired his gun at the rider. The bullet entered his shoulder-blade, and down went the Pole on the ground; still, even then, he yielded not, but tried to strike once more at his foe; but his weakened arm fell beneath the weight of his sabre, and Kookoobenko taking, with both his hands, his heavy sword, drove it right into the Pole's blanched mouth: the blade knocked out two white teeth, cut the tongue in two, ran through the throat, and went far into the ground, nailing the knight for ever to the dank earth. Like a fountain spirted forth the high-descended noble blood, red as the berries of the water elder, and dyed the yellow gold-embroidered jacket.