"It is too early yet," replied Szilard, and he spent a good half of the
afternoon there doing nothing. Only then did he take horse again,
complaining to everyone how much yesterday's ride had taken it out of
him, and asking everybody he met on the road, coming or going, where the
next village lay?--how to get to it?--and in what direction the highroad
lay?
The old _pandurs_ naturally began murmuring among themselves. "Oh!" said
they, "if he keeps on blurting out his whole line of route like this, we
shall only have the empty nests of the robbers to thresh out for our
trouble."
"And this chap thinks, forsooth, that he will capture Fatia Negra!"
growled the veteran sergeant.
But no sooner did they get beyond the fenced fields than Szilard
suddenly turned his horse's head and leading the way to the other side
of the mountain-stream, cut his way through the forest, ordering his
comrades to hurry after him as speedily as possible. What he was aiming
at, nobody had the least idea. If he meant to lose his way in the forest
he was setting about the best way to do it.
Suddenly he ordered his followers to dismount and lead their horses by
their bridles up to the top of the mountain. The old sergeant now
guessed what he was after, but did not approve of it.
"There is no path for a horse up this mountain," said he.
"Silence, sir! I know what I am about.
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