A fearful tumult began in the stable. Shouts and cries were raised, which were overborne by the thundering voice of Zagloba,--
“Oh, you scoundrels, you man-eaters, you basilisks! I’ll cut you to pieces, you mangy ruffians! You’ll know a knightly hand. Attacking honest people by night, shutting a noble in a stable! Scoundrels! Come to me by ones or by twos, only come! Come along; but you’ll leave your heads on the dung-heap, for I’ll hew them off, as I live.”
“Cut! cut!” shouted the Cossacks.
“We will burn the stable.”
“I’ll burn it myself, you ox-tails, and you with it.”
“Several,--several at a time!” shouted an old Cossack. “Support the ladder, prop it with lances, take bundles of hay on your heads and go on! We must get him.”
Then he mounted, and with him two comrades. The rounds b
