“That was well. He will return alone or in company. If there are any people with him, then strike at once on them. Leave him to me. Then to horse! Has any one pistols?” “I have,” said Kosma. “Give them here! Are they loaded, is there powder in the pan?” “Yes.” “Very well. If he comes back alone, when he enters spring on him and shut his mouth. You can stuff his own cap into it.” “According to command,” said the old man. “Your grace permits us now to search these? We are poor men.” He pointed to the corpses lying on the straw. “No! Be on the watch. What you find on Kuklinovski will be yours.” “If he returns alone,” said the old man, “I fear nothing. I shall stand behind the door; and even if some one from the quarters should come, I shall say that the colonel gave orders not to admit.” “That will do. Watch!” The tramp of a horse was heard behind the barn. Kmita sprang up and stood in the shadow at the wall. Kosma and Damian took their places near the door, like two cats waiting for a mouse. “He is alone,” said the old man. “Alone,” repeated Kosma and Damian. The tramp approached, was right there and halted suddenly. “Come out here, some one,—hold the horse!” The old man jumped out quickly. A moment of silence followed, then to those waiting in the barn came the following conversation,— “Is that you, Kyemlich? What the thunder! art mad, or an idiot? It is night, Miller is asleep. The guard will not give admission; they say that no officer went away. How is that?” “The officer is waiting here in the barn for your grace. He came right away after you rode off; he says that he missed your grace.” “What does all this mean? But the prisoner?” “Is hanging.” The door squeaked, and Kuklinovski pushed into the barn; but before he had gone a step two iron hands caught him by the throat, and smothered his cry of terror. Kosma and Damian, with the adroitness of genuine murderers, hurled him to the ground, put their knees on his breast, pressed him so that his ribs began to crack, and gagged him in the twinkle of an eye. Kmita came forward, and holding the pitch light to his eyes, said,— “Ah! this is Pan Kuklinovski! Now I have something to say to you!” Kuklinovski’s face was blue, the veins were so swollen that it seemed they might burst any moment; but in his eyes, which were coming out of his head and bloodshot, there was quite as much wonder as terror. “Strip him and put him on the beam!” cried Kmita. Kosma and Damian fell to stripping him as zealously as if they wished to take the skin from him together with his clothing. In a quarter of an hour Kuklinovski was hanging by his hands and feet, like a half goose, on the beam. Then Kmita put his hands on his hips and began to brag terribly.