Soroka mounted again and rode on. Horses' tracks in the turfy ground were more distinct; and some of them, as far as could be seen in the light of the moon, seemed quite fresh. Still the horses sank to their knees, and beyond. The soldiers were afraid that they could not wade through, or would come to some deeper quagmire; when, at the end of half an hour, the odor of smoke and rosin came to their nostrils. "There must be a pitch-clearing here," said Soroka. "Yes, sparks are to be seen," said a soldier. And really in the distance appeared a line of reddish smoke, filled with flame, around which were dancing the sparks of a fire burning under the ground. When they had approached, the soldiers saw a cabin, a well, and a strong shed built of pine logs. The horses, wearied from the road, began to neigh; frequent neighing answered them from under the shed, and at the same time there stood before the riders some kind of a figure, dressed in sheepskin, wool outward. "Are there many horses?" asked the man in the sheepskin. "Is this a pitch-factory?" inquired Soroka. "What kind of people are ye? Where do ye come from?" asked the pitch-maker, in a voice in which astonishment and alarm were evident. "Never fear!" answered Soroka; "we are not robbers." "Go your own way; there is nothing for you here." "Shut thy mouth, and guide us to the house since we ask. Seest not, scoundrel, that we are taking a wounded man?" "What kind of people are ye?" "Be quick, or we answer from guns. It will be better for thee to hurry. Take us to the house; if not, we will cook thee in thy own pitch." "I cannot defend myself alone, but there will be more of us. Ye will lay down your lives here." "There will be more of us too; lead on!" "Go on yourselves; it is not my affair." "What thou hast to eat, give us, and gorailka. We are carrying a man who will pay." "If he leaves here alive." Thus conversing, they entered the cabin; a fire was burning in the chimney, and from pots, hanging by the handles, came the odor of boiling meat. The cabin was quite large. Soroka saw at the walls six wooden beds, covered thickly with sheepskins. "This is the resort of some company," muttered he to his comrades. "Prime your guns and watch well. Take care of this scoundrel, let him not slip away. The owners sleep outside to-night, for we shall not leave the house." "The men will not come to-day," said the pitch-maker. "That is better, for we shall not quarrel about room, and to-morrow we will go on," replied Soroka; "but now dish the meat, for we are hungry, and spare no oats on the horses." "Where can oats be found here, great mighty soldiers?" "We heard horses under the shed, so there must be oats; thou dost not feed them with pitch." "They are not my horses." "Whether they are yours or not, they must eat as well as ours. Hurry, man, hurry! if thy skin is dear to thee!"