“Do you suppose that the boats there are not watching, and have no watchwords?”
“They have watchmen,” replied the Bohemian, in a whisper, “but prisoners when threatened with the knife will give up the watchword. Bah! they will even reply in the German language. If we reach the island, then the castle itself….”
Here he stopped, because Zbyszko put his hand upon his mouth, because from the roadside came the croak of a raven.
“Hush!” he said. “That is a signal.”
About two “paters” later, there appeared at the border a Zmudzian, riding upon a little shaggy pony, whose hoofs were enveloped in sheepskin to avoid the clatter and traces of horses’ hoofs in the mud. The rider looked sharply from side to side and, suddenly hearing from the thicket an answer to the croaking, dived into the forest
