"We shall not have an over-abundant repast," said the prince; "there is nothing to be had here." "We have food and spirits with us," answered Kmita. "That is well! We shall need strength." They halted. Kmita thrust his pistol behind his belt, sprang from the saddle, and giving his horse to Soroka, seized again the reins of the prince's horse, which however Lubyenyets had not let go from his hand on the other side. "Your highness will dismount!" said Kmita. "Why is that? I will eat and drink in the saddle," said the prince, bending down. "I beg you to come to the ground!" said Kmita, threateningly. "But into the ground with you!" cried the prince, with a terrible voice; and drawing with the quickness of lightning the pistol from Kmita's belt, he thundered into his very face. "Jesus, Mary!" cried Kmita. At this moment the horse under the prince struck with spurs reared so that he stood almost erect; the prince turned like a snake in the saddle toward Lubyenyets, and with all the strength of his powerful arm struck him with the pistol between the eyes. Lubyenyets roared terribly and fell from the horse. Before the others could understand what had happened, before they had drawn breath, before the cry of fright had died on their lips, Boguslav scattered them as a storm would have done, rushed from the square to the road, and shot on like a whirlwind toward Pilvishki. "Seize him! Hold him! Kill him!" cried wild voices. Three soldiers who were sitting yet on the horses rushed after him; but Soroka seized a musket standing at the wall, and aimed at the fleeing man, or rather at his horse. The horse stretched out like a deer, and moved forward like an arrow urged from the string. The shot thundered. Soroka rushed through the smoke for a better view of what he had done; he shaded his eyes with his hand, gazed awhile, and cried at last,-- "Missed!" At this moment Boguslav disappeared beyond the bend, and after him vanished the pursuers. Then Soroka turned to the blacksmith and his assistants, who were looking up to that moment with dumb astonishment at what had happened, and cried,-- "Water!" The blacksmith ran to draw water, and Soroka knelt near Pan Andrei, who was lying motionless. Kmita's face was covered with powder from the discharge, and with drops of blood; his eyes were closed, his left brow and left temple were blackened. The sergeant began first to feel lightly with his fingers the head of his colonel. "His head is sound." But Kmita gave no signs of life, and blood came abundantly from his face. The blacksmith's assistants brought a bucket of water and a cloth. Soroka, with equal deliberation and care, began to wipe Kmita's face. Finally the wound appeared from under the blood and blackness. The ball had opened Kmita's left cheek deeply, and had carried away the end of his ear. Soroka examined to see if his cheek-bone were broken.