Part 11 (1/2)

The priest sighed heavily as he looked after him.

”How will this end?” he murmured. ”The story is true, incredible as it seems; one might almost, like George, believe in witchcraft. To be sure, when a spark of pa.s.sion once kindles these calm, icy natures, the conflagration is terrible.”

The night pa.s.sed in the fort without incident; the new arrivals especially gave themselves up to their well deserved repose, but it was not to be long granted. Day was just beginning to dawn when the reveille suddenly sounded, and the whole garrison was speedily in motion.

Father Leonhard, who had been occupied with the wounded men until late at night, was also roused--it was needful here to be always prepared for the sudden outbreak of danger--and, rising, left his room. On the stairs he met George in full uniform, coming toward him in the greatest hurry.

”Here you are, your reverence! My lieutenant has sent me to tell you that we must be off at once. He hasn't any time, and I must be down below in five minutes. Didn't I say so! Scarcely do we expect to get a fair chance of sleep when these confounded savages are at us again.”

”But what is the matter? Are the insurgents attacking the fort?”

”No; but our captain is fighting with them two leagues from here. They attacked him during the night; he can't hold out alone against the superior force, and has sent for reinforcements. We are to join him. I only wanted to ask you to take care of Jovica, your reverence. The poor thing will cry if she doesn't see me, and I now fill a father's place to her.”

”Have no anxiety, the young girl is under my protection. Where is your captain?”

But George was far too much engrossed by his paternal duties to have any thought of anything else, he continued hastily in broken accents:

”And if I don't return at all, you must at least baptize the poor thing; she can't remain in paganism. Promise me that, your reverence.

There's the signal again, and that confounded _bora_ is beginning to whistle. But it makes no difference, out we must go! I wish I could wring the neck of this whole Krivoscia--no, not the whole, Jovica belongs to the country. No, no! Take care of Jovica for me, your reverence.”

He rushed down the staircase to join his comrades. Father Leonhard followed, and was just in time to see the fortress gates opened. George was already standing in the ranks; Gerald, who was at the head of his men, waved a farewell to the priest with his sword, and the little band marched bravely out in the glimmering dusk of early morn.

V.

The _bora_ had been blowing all day long with a violence that would have seemed dangerous to a dweller in the lowlands, but which attracted no special attention here. On the rocky heights of the Karst the mountaineers were familiar with tempests that brought destruction to every living thing in their path, and often hurled horse and rider over a precipice. To-day the wind had roared over the earth and howled fiercely above it, but it was at least possible to remain out of doors and even move forward. The air was dry, the sky clear, and the landscape was illumined by the bright moonlight.

In one of the funnel-shaped ravines that intersect the rocky ridges of the Karst in every direction, was a so-called ”village,” a mere handful of huts, rudely built of stone, which only afforded shelter from the weather, and scarcely resembled human habitations. Somewhat higher up, almost at the edge of the ravine, but still within the protection of the rocks, stood a somewhat larger building, the only one that deserved the name of house. It was firmly built, had a door and windows, and was divided inside into several separate rooms. The first and largest of these apartments seemed to be used as a common living-room by the occupants. A huge fire was blazing on the hearth and illumined the bare, smoke-blackened walls, whose sole ornaments, a crucifix and an image of a saint, showed that the inhabitants were Christians. The furniture, though clumsy and roughly made, was better than is usually found in this region, and several wooden chests in the corners, apparently well filled, also indicated that the owner of the dwelling was one of the rich and distinguished men in the tribe.

True, the weapons generally seen on the walls of every hut were absent, like the arms that wielded them. The men belonging to the village, who were capable of bearing arms, were now away at the scene of war or camped in inaccessible ravines and narrow pa.s.ses. Sometimes they secretly returned to their homes, which stood open to the troops--they were well aware that the women and children left behind had nothing to fear from the soldiery.

Upon the wooden table stood the remnants of a simple meal, and a young woman was engaged in cleaning the pot in which she had prepared it. She did her work swiftly and silently, without joining even by a syllable in the conversation of the two men who stood by the hearth.

Both were young, and true sons of their country, slender, brown and supple, but their dress and whole appearance showed traces of the long months of conflict through which they had pa.s.sed. The elder, who had sharp, eagle-like features, and a face as hard and rigid as the rocks of his home, was gazing gloomily with frowning brow into the fire. His companion, who was several years his junior, also looked grave and gloomy, but his face lacked the former's iron sternness. Neither had laid aside his weapons; they wore swords at their sides and knives thrust into their girdles, while their guns leaned against the wall close by within their reach.

”I expected to hear better news from you,” said the elder, angrily.

”Another defeat! Was not your force superior?”

”Only at first, the enemy received reinforcements, and my men have long been disheartened. You will not see, Marco, that we are constantly being forced back, more and more closely surrounded. We are the only ones who still hold out--for how long?”

”Do you want to sue for mercy?” cried Marco, furiously. ”Will you give your hand to those who killed your father, as well as mine? If you can forget that you are Hersovac's son--my name is Obrevic. And the man to whom I owe my imprisonment and my father's death is still unharmed.”

”It was he who brought the foe aid to-day,” said young Hersovac. ”I recognized him during the fight. You will not touch him, he has protected himself by witchcraft.”

”One might believe so!” muttered Marco. ”He is no coward, he is always in the front of the fray. How often I have sought him there, how often he was to have been betrayed into my hands by stratagem. Others, the wrong ones, were always struck and he escaped. But he is still within our frontiers, and I have set snares for him at every step. If he once separates from his comrades he is mine!”

He seized a log of wood from the pile and flung it on the fire so that the sparks flew in every direction; it was an expression of his suppressed fury. Then he asked in a curt, sharp tone:

”Where is Danira? Doesn't she know that I am here?”