The Yellow Rose Part 12

"Let the young mistress here tell us what she has heard. What object could the pretty la.s.s have for contriving such a murder?"

"Ah, 'tis a very strange business. One murder leads to another. A while ago, a rich Moravian cattle-dealer came here buying cattle. He had much money. Pretty Klari, there, talked it over with her lover, the cowherd, and together they murdered the dealer, and threw him into the Hortobagy.

But the horseherd, who was also sweet on the girl, caught them at it, and so first they divided the stolen money between them, and then poisoned the csikos to put him out of the way."

"And what about the cowherd then, has he been caught?" inquired the bootmaker excitedly.

"They would if they could, but he has vanished utterly. Gendarmes are searching the whole puszta for him, and a price is set on his head. They have stuck up his description, as I have read for myself, a hundred dollars to whoever catches him alive. I know him well enough too!"

Now, had Sandor Decsi been sitting there instead of Ferko Lacza, great would have been the scene, for here was the moment for a real effective bit of drama. To fling his loaded cudgel on the table, knock the chair from under him, and shout out, "I am the herdsman on whose head they have set a price. Which of you wants the hundred dollars?"

Then the whole worthy company would have taken to their heels and fled, some to the cellar, some up the chimney.

But the cowboy was of a different temperament, and had been used all his life to act with care and caution. Besides, his work among the cattle had impressed upon him the imprudence of catching the bull by the horns.

So leaning his elbows on the table, he asked calmly, "Would you then recognise the herdsman from the description, mistress?"

"Why not indeed! How could I help knowing him? He has bought my soap often enough to be sure!"

"But, dear me, ma'am," said the horse-cooper, who desired to display his knowledge, "what use can a herdsman have for soap? Surely, all cowboys wear blue shirts and breeches which never need washing, because the linen has been first boiled in lard!"

"Deary me! Sakes alive! Did you ever! So soap is only wanted for dirty clothes, is it? A cowboy never shaves, does he? Perhaps he always wears as long a beard as a Jew horse-cooper?"

Everyone shrieked with laughter, much to the discomfiture of the snubbed intruder.

"Now, need I have exposed myself to that?" grumbled the unhappy man.

"You don't happen to know the name," continued the herdsman, in a quiet voice, "of that cowboy, mistress?"

"Not know his name! It has but just slipped out of my mind. 'Tis on the tip of my tongue, for I know him as well as my own child."

"Is it Ferko Lacza?"

"Yes, yes, that's it. Why, you've taken it out of my mouth. Perhaps you know him yourself?"

But the herdsman refrained from announcing that he knew him as well as his father's only son. Quietly knocking out the ashes from his pipe, he refilled it, rose, and propped up his cudgel against the straw-bottomed chair to show it was engaged, and no one else might occupy it. Then, relighting his pipe at the solitary candle burning on the middle of the table, he left the room. Those remaining made remarks about him.

"Surely something heavy as lead is weighing on that man!"

"I don't like the look of his eyes!"

"Could he know aught about the csikos' murder, think you?"

Again the horse-dealer committed the offence of meddling in the discussion.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "permit me to make the humble observation that yesterday, when I was on the Ohat puszta, buying horses, I there saw the murdered and poisoned Sandor Decsi, looking as fresh and blooming as a rosy apple! He la.s.soed the colts for me. This is as true as I live!"

"_What?_ And you let us sit here telling lies to one another?" stormed the whole a.s.sembly. "Here, clear out; get away!"

No sooner said than done, they seized him by the collar and flung him out of the room.

The chucked-out traveller, smoothing his crumpled hat, spluttered and swore, till he found a moral to fit the case.

"Now, need I have exposed myself to that? What is the good of a Jew speaking the truth?"

Meanwhile, the cowherd going to the cattle proposed to the Moravian drovers that they should go inside for a change and drink a gla.s.s of wine; he would watch the cows. The chair with the stick beside it was his.

While he watched he picked up a bit of "poor man's peat," stuffing it up his coat sleeve. What could he want with it?

CHAPTER VIII.

Lucky it is that no one outside the Hortobagy knows about this "poor man's peat" which is gathered on the meadow-land. One thing is certain--it is no lily-of-the-valley. It is the sole fuel of the puszta herdsman, in fact, a sort of zoological peat.

We remember the tale of the Hungarian landowner who, finding it advisable to go abroad after the Revolution, chose free Switzerland as a temporary place of residence. But his eyes never grew used to the high mountains. Every evening, on withdrawing to his room, he would take a piece of "peat," found on the pasture, and laying it on the hearth, kindle it. Then, as he sat with closed eyes in the smell of the smoke, he would once more fancy himself back on the wide, wide plains, among the moving herds and tinkling cow bells, and all the rest for which his soul longed. . . .

Well, if this peat-smoke can exert such a strong influence on an educated mind, how were it possible to doubt the following story?

The travellers had to wait two more days at the Polgar ferry.

On the third, about midnight, the ferry-man brought the glad tidings to the expectant crowd, whose patience and provisions were alike exhausted, that the Theiss had fallen greatly. The ferry-boat had been replaced, and by morning they would be able to cross.

Those with carts lost no time in running them on board, and arranging them side by side. Next they took the horses. Then came the turn for the cattle. Room was made for them with difficulty. The crush was great, but mild, after all, to what theatre-goers usually endure!

Last of all, the bull, the terror of everyone, was brought, and now no one remained but the herdsman and his horse. The two Moravian drovers took their places between the cows and the carts. But as yet no start could be made. The tow-rope was strained taut by the water, and they were obliged to wait till the sunshine could relax it somewhat. Moisture was rising like steam all along its surface.

So the cowherd, wishing to utilise the time, suggested that the ferry-man might cook them a "paprikas" of fish. Nothing else eatable was to be had, but a pot was at hand, likewise plenty of fish, left by the receding waters. The boatmen caught them by sticking an oar under their gills--fat carp, silurius, and sturgeon. These they hastily cleaned, cut up, and cast into the pot, underneath which a little fire was kindled.

Now all was ready, when the question rose: "Who has 'paprika'?" Every ordinary, self-respecting Hungarian carries his own supply in his knapsack; but after a three days' famine even "paprika" will give out!

Nevertheless, no "paprika," no fish stew.

"I have some," said the cowboy, and pulled a wooden box from his sleeve.

Every one noted what a far-seeing man he must be to reserve his own "paprika" for the last extremity, and henceforth regarded him as the saviour of the party.

The stew-pot was in the end of the ferry-boat, and to reach it the herdsman traversed its whole length, the cattle being stationed about the middle. But, then, who cares to let his box of "paprika" out of his own hand? While the ferry-man was busy seasoning the fish with the red pepper (Oken, writing about it, calls it _poison_; but that some wild tribes dare to eat it), the cowboy took the opportunity to drop his piece of "peat," un.o.bserved into the fire.

"I say! that 'paprikas' must be singeing! What a smell it has!" remarked the cobbler presently.

"Smell! Stink I would call it," corrected the itinerant cloak vendor.

But the heavy greasy odour affected the noses of the cattle more markedly. First, the bull grew restless, snuffed in the air, shook the bell at his neck and lowed, then lowering his head and lifting his tail began to bellow dangerously. At that the cows got excited, capered to and fro, reared up on each others backs, and jostled to the side of the ferry-boat.

"Mother Mary! Holy Anna! Protect the ship!" shrieked the fat soap-maker.

"Hurry up, mistress! seat yourself opposite. That will steady her again," joked the shoemaker.

But it was no joke. Every man on board had to clutch the rope to keep the ferry-boat from tilting over; the other side dipped nearly to the water.