King Stakh's Wild Hunt

The Wild Hunt, as if desiring to prove to me it was illusive, turned about and was already galloping sidewards of me, out of reach of my shots. I began to crawl on my back to the bushes and succeeded in coming nearer to them, when someone jumped on me and a terribly heavy weight pinned me to the ground. The last bit of air in my lungs escaped, I even moaned. And I immediately understood that this was a person it was not worth my while to measure either my weight or strength with.

But he attempted to twist my hands behind my back and whistled in a husky whisper:

“S-stand, S-s-satan, wait… W-won't run aw-way> y-you w-won't, you bandit, murderer… H-hold, you rotter…”

I understood that if I didn't employ all my adroitness I'd perish. I remember only that I thought with regret of the spectral Hunt that I had shot at, but hadn't harmed even one of its hairs. The next instant, feeling someone's paw stealing up to my throat, I used an ancient well-tested method to put it out of action. Something warm came running down my face: he had with his own hand smashed his nose. I grabbed him by the hand and twisted it under myself, rolling together with him on the ground. He groaned loudly and I understood that my second move had also been successful. But immediately after this, I received such a blow on the bridge of my nose that the bog began to swim before my eyes and my hair stood on end. Luckily, I had instinctively strained the muscles of my abdomen in time, and therefore the following blow below the belt did not harm me. His hairy hands had already reached my throat when I recalled my grandfather's advice in case of a fight with an opponent stronger than myself. With unbelieving strength I turned over on my back, pressed my hands hard against the heavy belly of the unknown man and drove my sharp, hard knee into the most sensitive spot. Involuntarily he gave way and fell on me with his face and chest. Gathering all my remaining forces, I thrust him up into the air as far as possible with my knee and outstretched arms. I had, evidently, thrust too hard, for, as it turned out, he made a half-circle in the air and his heavy body, — Oh! What a heavy body! — struck against the ground. Simultaneously I fainted.

When I came to, I heard someone groaning somewhere behind my head. My opponent could not move from his place, while I was making a great effort to stand up on my feet. I decided to give him a hard kick under his heart so he shouldn't be able to breathe, but at first I took a glance at the swamp where the Wild Hunt had disappeared. And suddenly I heard a very familiar voice, the voice of the one who was moaning and groaning.

“Oh, damn it, where is this blockhead from? What a skunk! Our holy martyrs!”

I burst out laughing. The same voice answered:

“It's you, Mr. Biełarecki! I doubt whether I can be a desireable guest with the ladies after today. Why did you crawl away from the fence? That only made it worse. While those devils are now, fa-ar away, to the devil with you… excuse me.”

“Mr. Dubatoŭk!” I exclaimed in surprise.

“The devil take you, Mr. Biełarecki… Oh! Excuse me!” The very large shadow sat down, holding on to its belly. “You see, I was lying in wait. I got worried. Rumours had reached me that some nasty events had been taking place at my niece's. O-Oh! And you, too, were on the look-out? Damn you on the day of Christ's birth.”

I picked up the revolver from the ground.

“And why did you throw yourself on me like that, Mr. Dubatoŭk?”

“The devil alone knows! Some worm was creeping, I thought, so I grabbed at it. May your parents meet you in the next world as you have met me in this one. However, you skunk, how terribly you fight!”

It turned out that the old man had learned without us about the visits of the Wild Hunt and he had decided to lie in wait for it, “since the young ones are such weak ones — the wind swings them, and they are such cowards that they cannot defend a woman.” The end of this unexpected meeting you know. Hardly able to keep from laughing, which might have seemed disrespectful, I helped the groaning Dubatoŭk onto his freezing horse standing not far away. He mounted him groaning and swearing, sat sidewise, muttered something like “the devil tugged me to fight ghosts — ran up against a fool with sharp knees” and rode off.

His pinched face, his crooked one-sided figure were so pitiful, that I choked with laughter. He rode off to his house, groaning, moaning, casting curses on all my kin until the twelfth generation.

Dubatoŭk disappeared in the darkness, and here an indescribable, an inexplicable alarm pierced my heart. A kind of fearful guess stirred in my subconscious, but would not come to light. “Hands?” No, I could not recollect why this word worried me. Here there was something different… Why had there been so few horsemen? Why had only eight ghosts appeared today near the broken-down fence? What had happened to the rest? And suddenly an alarming thought struck me: