The Yellow Rose Part 11

"I make fun of the matter!" exclaimed the csikos, becoming serious instantly. "I swear before G.o.d above, all I have said is true."

He raised his three fingers, and the girl screamed out,

"No, no! Do not perjure yourself! Do not risk the salvation of your soul!"

"The devil take you both, for you are both mad." This was the judge's verdict. "Notary, take down the herdsman's statement regarding the gypsy, who will be charged with committing the crime. As to her whereabouts, that the police must discover. It is their business. You two can go; if necessary, we will summon you again."

Then they let the girl free. She deserved a little fatherly rebuke, and that she got.

The lad remained behind to hear his deposition taken down, and to sign it. The girl waited on the verandah for him to come out, his horse being tethered to an acacia hard by.

The lad, however, first went to the doctor to thank him for his unremitting kindness. The doctor having attended the inquiry, had, of course, heard everything.

"Well, Sandor," he said, as soon as the thanks had been got over, "I have seen many famous actors on the stage, but never one who played the betyar as you did!"

"I did right, didn't I?" asked the lad gravely.

"Yes, indeed, you are an honourable fellow. But say a kind word to the girl if you meet her. Poor thing, she never meant to do such wrong."

"I am not angry with her. May G.o.d bless you, sir, for your great goodness."

As he stepped out on to the verandah, the girl stopped him, and seized his hand.

"Sandor, what have you done? Sent your soul to perdition, sworn falsely, told a lying tale, all to set me free! You have denied ever having loved me, that my body may escape the lash, and my slender neck the blow that would sever it. Why have you done this?"

"That is my affair. This much I will tell you; from henceforth, one of us two I must hate and despise. Do not cry, you are not that one! I dare no longer look in your eyes, because I see myself reflected there, and I am worth no more than the broken b.u.t.ton that is coming off my waistcoat.

G.o.d bless you."

With that he untied his horse from the acacia, sprang on to it, and dashed off into the puszta.

The girl gazed and gazed after him, till her sight grew dim from tears.

Then she sought till she found the broken b.u.t.ton he had cast on the floor. This she placed next her heart.

CHAPTER VII.

It happened just as the overseer had predicted. When the herd reached the Polgar ferry it was impossible to cross. The Theiss, the Sajo, the Hernad, all were in flood. The water touched the planking of the foot-bridge. The ferry-boat had been hauled up, and moored to the willows on the bank. Great trees, torn up by their roots, were coming down on the turbulent dirty flood; and flocks of wild ducks, divers, and cormorants were disporting themselves on the waters, fearless of the gun at such a time.

But that communication should be stopped was a dire misfortune, not only for the Duke's cattle, but much more so for all the market-goers from Debreczin and ujvaros, striving to reach the Onod fair. There stood their carts, out among the puddles, under the open sky, while their owners bewailed the bad luck in the one small drinking-room of the Polgar ferry-house.

Ferko Lacza went off to buy hay for the herd, and purchased a whole stack. "For here we can sit kicking our heels for three days at the shortest!"

Now, by good luck, there was, among those bound for the market, a purveyor of cooked meat, with her enormous iron frying pan, and fresh pork, ready sliced. She found a ready sale for her wares, setting up a makeshift cook-shop in a hut constructed of maize stalks. Firewood she did not need to buy, the Theiss brought plenty. Wine the old innkeeper had, sharp, but good, since none better was to be got. Besides, every Hungarian carries his pipe, tobacco, and his bag of provisions when he gives his mind to travel.

So the time pa.s.sed in forming new acquaintances. The Debreczin bootmaker and the tanner from Balmaz-ujvaros were old friends, while the vendor of cloaks was universally addressed as "Daddy." The ginger-bread baker, who thought himself better than the others because he wore a long coat with a scarlet collar, sat at a separate table, but, nevertheless, joined in the conversation. Later, a horse-cooper appeared; but as his nose was crooked, he was only allowed to talk standing. When the cowherd entered, a place was squeezed out for him at the table, for even townsfolk respect a herdsman's position of trust. The Moravian drovers stayed outside to watch the cattle.

The t.i.ttle-tattle went on pleasantly and quietly as yet, young Mistress Pundor not having arrived. When she put in an appearance, n.o.body would get in a word edgeways. But her cart had evidently stuck on the way, at some seductive inn, she having seized the opportunity of travelling with the carpenter, her brother-in-law. He was taking tulip-decorated chests to the Onod fair, while young Mistress Pundor supplied the world with soap and tallow candles. When the herdsman entered, the room was so full of smoke that he could hardly see.

"Then tell us, 'Daddy,'" the shoemaker was saying to the tanner, "for you at ujvaros are nearer the Hortobagy inn than we; how did the innkeeper's girl poison the csikos?"

At these words the cowboy felt as if he had been shot through the heart.

"How was it? Well, pretty little Klarika there peppered the stew she was making him with crows' claws."

"I know otherwise," interrupted the ginger-bread baker. "Little Klari put datura in the honeymead--the stuff they use for stupefying fish."

"Well, of course, the gentleman must know best, for he has a gold watch chain! They sent for the regimental surgeon from ujvaros to dissect the deceased csikos, and he found the claws in his inside. They put them in spirits, to be produced as evidence at the trial!"

"So you have killed the poor fellow! We didn't hear he died from the poison, only went mad, and was sent up to Buda to have a hole bored in his head, for all the strength of the poison had gone there."

"Sent him up to Buda, did they? Sent him underground, you mean! Why, my wife herself spoke to the very maker of imitation flowers who made those strewn over Decsi's shroud. That is a fact!"

"Now, now! Mistress Csikmak is here with her fried meat, and as she came a day later from Debreczin, she must know the truth. Let us call her in."

But Mistress Csikmak, being unable to leave her frizzling pan, could only give her opinion through the window. She, likewise, buried the poisoned csikos. The Debreczin clerk had chanted over his grave, and the priest had preached a farewell sermon.

"And what happened to the girl?" inquired three voices at once.

"The girl! She ran off with her lover--a cowboy; by whose advice she poisoned the csikos. They are setting up a robber band together."

Ferko Lacza listened quietly to all this.

"Stuff and nonsense. Bosh!" exclaimed the ginger-bread baker, capping her version. "I'm afraid you've not heard right, dear Mistress Csikmak.

They caught the girl directly, put her in irons, and brought her in between gendarmes. My lad was there when they took her to the Town-House."

Still the cowherd listened without stirring.

Suddenly, amid great commotion, arrived the above-mentioned laggard--young Mistress Pundor, she foremost, then the driver, lastly the brother-in-law, dragging a large chest. How polite a language is Hungarian, even an individual like the soap-making lady has her t.i.tle of respect, "ifja.s.szony" (young mistress).

"Now Mistress Pundor will tell us what happened to the girl at the inn who poisoned the csikos," cried everyone.

"Yes, of course. Dear soul. Just let me get my breath a bit." With that she sat down on the large chest, a chair or bench would have smashed to atoms under her form.

"Did they catch pretty Klari? or has she run away?"

"Oh, my dears, why they have tried her already, condemned to death she is, to-morrow they put her in the convict's cell, and the execution is the day after. The headsman comes to-day from Szeged, and they have taken a room for him at the White Horse, because the folks at the Bull refused him. 'Tis as true as I'm sitting here. I have it from the porter himself, who comes to me for candles."

"And what sort of death is she to have?"

"Well, under the old rule--and richly she deserves it--they would set her on straw and burn her. But seeing she is of the better cla.s.s, and her father of good family, they will only cut off her head. They generally behead gentlefolk."

"Ah, quit that, mistress," contradicted the ginger-bread man. "Do they heed such things nowadays? Not a bit of it! Why, before '48, if I put on my mantle with the silver b.u.t.tons, they took me for--a gentleman, and never asked me for toll on the bridge at Pest, but now I may wear my mantle----"

"Oh, drop your mantle with the silver b.u.t.tons!" said the cloth merchant, taking the word out of his mouth.