The country-side was quite empty and deserted; a blazing sun burned. Here and there a peasant stared after them, or a few children peeped out from shady places: the village dogs alone followed them persistently and with great clamour of barking. The “ancient” lit a cigarette, and held it between his teeth as he went on talking, lamenting over his lot: no rest either day or night with that everlasting service! “Indeed? That means it is no easy thing nowadays to squeeze money out of the peasants!” The “ancient” flung out a curse at him, with a foul reflection on his mother. Antek, who had no mind to bandy insults with them, grasped his stick with a firm clutch, and rejoined, now openly attacking him: “What I say is the simple truth: your service in the villages only gets you barked at; at most, some poor fellow’s last _zloty_ may now and then find its way to your pockets!” The “ancient,” though he turned green with spite, and clenched his hand on his sword-hilt, still bore this in silence. It was only when they were just passing the last cabin in the village that he unexpectedly sprang at Antek, crying out to his comrade: “Seize him!” The surprise failed, however. Before they could touch him, Antek had sent them both reeling back with a couple of blows. Leaping to one side, he stood, with his back against the cabin, brandishing his stick, showing teeth that gleamed like a wolf’s, and uttering bits of sentences, hoarse and incoherent: “Go your ways.... Ye’ll never get hold of me!... Even four of you would be too few!... Dogs! I’ll break all your teeth!... What would ye?... I have done no one any harm.... Will ye have a fight?—Very well; but first order a cart to carry your bodies away.... Come on, then.—Touch me.—Let me see you try!” he growled; and his stick sang loud in the air. He was in a slaying mood. Seeing him thus, they both stood transfixed: the man was of such great stature, expanded to the utmost by the towering passion he was in; and his stick hissed and hummed and whirled in his hand with so ominous a sound!—The “ancient” felt that an attack upon him was out of the question, and attempted to turn the whole affair off as a joke. “Ha! ha! excellent!... Trapped! Trapped! A splendid joke we have played off on you!” He burst out laughing, holding both his sides, while they withdrew several steps (overcome, as it were, with the fun of the thing); but, continuing to retire, and now out of danger, he suddenly changed his tone and, shaking his fist, snarled furiously: “Ye have not seen the last of us, my master: we shall talk with each other once more!” He snarled back in reply: “May the plague carry you both off first! Why, you are afraid lest _I_ should attack _you_; therefore did ye try to turn it into a jest!—And I too shall talk with you ... but man to man, and alone!” he growled, as he watched them out of sight.