The Yellow Rose Part 15

"You see the boy's my G.o.dson, and I'm fond enough of the cub. No one can manage the herd as he does, and I did my best to free him from soldiering. Ferko is the G.o.dchild of my old friend, the cattle overseer, and a good lad also. Both would be the best friends in the world, if the devil, or goodness knows what evil fate, hadn't thrown that pale-faced girl in between them. Now they are ready to eat each other.

Luckily my old friend had a capital idea, and has sent Ferko to be head herdsman to a Moravian Duke. So peace will once more reign on the Hortobagy."

Sandor guessed from the whispering that it was of him they were talking, and turned away. Eavesdropping is not congenial to the Hungarian nature.

So he drove the herd to the watering-place, where the other horses were already a.s.sembled. Five herdsmen there were, three well-poles, one thousand and fifty horses. Each csikos had to lower the pole, fill the bucket, raise the bucket and empty it into the trough, exactly two hundred and ten times. This is their daily amus.e.m.e.nt, three times repeated, and they certainly cannot complain of lack of exercise!

Sandor Decsi, let no one notice that anything had gone amiss with him.

He was merry as a lark, and sang and whistled all day long, till the wide plain resounded with his favourite song:

"Poor and nameless though I be, My six black horses I'll drive along.

My six black horses are good to see, And the puszta lad is ruddy and strong."

First one, then another csikos caught up the air, filling the whole puszta with their singing. The next day he seemed just as gay, from dawn till dark, as good-humoured in fact, "as one who feels himself fey."

After sundown the herds were driven to their night quarters near the "karam," where they would keep together till morning.

Meanwhile the boy brought the bundles of "cserekely," that is, down-trodden reeds, which serve to light the herdsman's fire and to warm up his supper in the kitchen. Very different is the cowherd's meal to that of the csikos. Here is no stolen mutton or pork, such as the csikos of the stage love to talk about. All the swine and flocks pasture on the far side of the Hortobagy river, and it would be a day's journey for the aspiring csikos desirous of bagging a little pig or yearling lamb.

Neither is there any of the carrion stew known to and spoken of by the cowboy. The overseer's wife in the town cooks provisions for the herdsmen enough to last a week. As to the fare, any gentleman could sit down to it--sour rye soup, pork stew, "Calvanistic Heaven," or stuffed cabbage, larded meat. All five csikos sup together with the old herdsman, nor is the serving lad forgotten.

A herd of horses differs from a herd of cows after nightfall. Once the cows have been watered, they all settle down in a ma.s.s to chew their cud, but the horse is no such philosopher. He feeds on into the night, and as long as there is moon, keeps munching gra.s.s incessantly.

Sandor Decsi was in a gay mood that evening, and as they sat round the glowing fire, he asked the overseer, "Dear G.o.dfather, how comes it that a horse can eat all day long? If the meadows were covered with cakes, I could never go on stuffing the whole day!"

"Well, G.o.dson, I can tell you, only you must not laugh. It is an old tale and belongs to the days when students wore three-cornered hats. I had it from such an inkslinger myself, and may his soul suffer, if every word of it be not true! Once upon a time there was a very famous saint called Martin--he is still about, only nowadays he never comes to the Hortobagy. We know he was a Hungarian saint too, because he always went on horseback. Then there was a King here, and his name was Horse Marot. They called him that because he once managed to cheat Saint Martin of the steed which used to carry him about the world. Saint Martin was his guest, and he tied up his steed in the stable yard. Then one morning early, when Saint Martin wanted to set off on his travels, he said to the King: 'Now give me my horse, and let me start!'

'Impossible,' said the King, 'the horse is just eating.' Saint Martin waited till noon, then he asked for it again. 'You can't go now,' said the King, 'the horse is eating.' Saint Martin waited till sunset, then urged the King once more for his horse. 'I tell you, you can't have your horse, because it's _still eating_!' Then Saint Martin grew angry, cast his little book on the ground, and cursed the King and the horse. 'May the name of 'Horse' stick to you for ever! May you never be free of it, but may the two names be said in one breath! As for the horse, may it graze the livelong day yet never be filled!' Since then the horse is always eating, yet never has enough. And you, if you don't believe this story, go to the land of Make-believe, and there on a peak you will find a blind horse. Ask him. He can tell you better maybe, seeing he was there himself."

All the csikos thanked the old man for the pleasant tale. Then each hastened to find his horse, and to trot away through the silent night to his own herd.

CHAPTER X.

It was a lovely spring evening. The sunset glow lingered long in the sky, till night drew on her garment of soft fleecy mists lying all round the horizon.

The sickle of the new moon grazed the Zam Hill, with the lovers' star shining radiant just above--that star which rises so early and sets so soon!

Some distance from the herd, the csikos sought out a resting-place for the night, and there carefully unsaddled his horse and removed the bridle from its head, hanging it on his stick, rammed into the ground.

Then he spread the saddle-cloth over the saddle; this was his pillow; his covering the embroidered "szur." But first he broke up some bread, left from his supper, and gave it, in his hand, to the horse.

"Now you may go and graze also, little Vidam (Vidam means gay and lively). You do not feed all day long like the others! You are always saddled, and yet, after you have been ridden the whole day, they want to put you to the machine, and make you draw water. Well, they can want! Do they fancy that 'a horse is as much a dog as a man'?"

Then he gently wiped the horse's eyes with his loose sleeve.

"Now, go and search out good gra.s.s for yourself; but don't go far! When the moon has sunk, and with her that shining star, then come back here.

See, I don't tether you like a cowherd does, nor shackle your feet as peasants do. 'Tis enough for me to call, 'Here, Vidam!' and you are here directly."

Vidam understood. Why not? Freed from saddle and bridle, he gave a jump, kicked up his hind legs, threw himself on the ground, and rolled over and over several times with his heels to the sky. Then regaining his feet, he shook his mane, neighed once, and started off for the flowery pastures, snorting and flicking his long tail to keep off the humming night insects. The csikos meanwhile lay down on his gra.s.sy bed. What a splendid couch! For pillow the wide circle of plain, and for curtains the star-strewn sky!

It was late already. Nevertheless, the earth, like a restless, naughty child, refused to slumber yet. Could not sleep in fact. Everywhere there was sound, soft, indistinct, and full of mystery. The pealing of bells from the town, or the barking of dogs with the cattle were too far away to be heard here. But the bittern boomed among the reeds hard by, like a lost soul, the reed-warbler, the nightingale of the marsh, gurgled and twittered with thousands of frogs to swell the chorus; and through it all came the monotonous clack of the Hortobagy mill. High overhead sounded the mournful wail of flights of wild geese and cranes, flying in long lines, scarcely to be distinguished against the sky. Here and there a dense cloud of gnats whirled into the air, making a ghostly whirring music. Now and then a horse neighed.

Poor lad! formerly your head would hardly touch the saddle before you were fast asleep, now you can only gaze and gaze at the dark blue sky overhead, and the stars, whose names your old G.o.dfather taught you.

There in the midst is the Pole Star, which never moves from its place; those two are the "Herdsman's Team," while that with the changing colour is the "Eye of an Orphan Maid." The brilliant one, just over the horizon, is the "Reaper's Star;" still the "Wanderer's Lamp" is brighter. Those three are the "Three Kings," that cl.u.s.ter the "Seven Sisters," and the star which is sinking into the mist is called the "Window of Heaven."

But why look at the stars when one cannot speak to them? A heavy load weighs down the heart, a cruel wound makes the soul bleed. If one could pour out the bitterness, if one could complain, perhaps it might be easier. But how vast is the puszta and how void!

The shining star set, also the moon. The horse left the pasture and returned to its master. Very gently he stepped along, as if fearing to wake him, and stretching out his long neck, bent his head over him to see if he slept.

"No, I'm not asleep. Come here, old fellow," said the csikos.

At that the horse began to whinny joyously, and lay down near his master.

The herdsman raised himself on his elbows, and rested his head on his hand. Here was someone to speak with--an intelligent beast.

"You see!" he said. "You see, my Vidam? That is the way with a girl!

Outside gold, inside silver. When she speaks the truth it is half false; when she lies it is half true! No one will ever learn to understand her. . . . You know how much I loved her! . . . How often I made your sides bleed as I spurred you on to carry me the quicker to her! . . .

How often I tied you up at the door in snow and mud, in freezing cold and burning sunshine! I never thought of you, my dear old horse, only of how I loved her!"

The horse seemed to laugh at the notion of not remembering. Of course his master had done so.

"And you know how much she loved me! . . . How she stuck roses behind your ears, plaited your mane with ribbons, and fed you with sweet cakes from her own hand! . . . How often she drew me back with her kisses, even from the saddle, and hugged your neck that I might remain the longer!"

Vidam answered him with a low whinny. Certainly the girl had done all that.

"Till that confounded beggar slunk in and stole half her heart. If he had but stolen the whole of it! Taken her to himself and gone off with her! But to leave her here; half a heavenly blessing and half a deadly curse----"

The horse evidently wanted to comfort him, and laid his head on his master's knee.

"Strike him, G.o.d!" muttered the csikos in an agony of grief. "Do not leave the man unpunished who has plucked another's rose for himself. Did I kill him, I know his mother would weep!"

The horse lashed the ground with his tail, as had his master's rage been transmitted to him.

"But how can I kill him? He is over the hills and far away by now! And you are not able, my poor Vidam, to fly all over the kingdom with me.

No, you must stay here with me in my trouble."

Nothing Vidam could do indeed could alter the situation. So he signified his acquiescence in the harsh decree of fate by lying down and stretching out his great head and neck.

But the csikos would not let him turn his thoughts to slumber, he had yet something to tell him. A smacking of the lips, very like a kiss, aroused the horse.

"Don't sleep yet. . . . . I'm not sleeping. We'll have time enough some day when we take our long rest! . . . . Till then we'll keep together we two. . . . . Never shall you leave your master. . . . . Never will he part with you, not though they offer him your weight in gold . . . . my one faithful friend! Do you know how you caught hold of my waistcoat and helped the doctor to lift me up from the ground when I lay on the puszta as good as dead, with the eagles shrieking over me? You seized my clothes with your teeth, and raised me, you did! . . . . Yes? . . . .

You know all about it? . . . . my darling! Do not fear, we will never cross the Hortobagy bridge again, never turn in at the Hortobagy inn.

. . . . I swear it, here, by the starry sky, that never, never, _never_ will I step over the threshold where that false girl dwells. . . . . May the stars cease to shine on me, if I break my word----"

At this great oath the horse stood up on his fore-feet, and sat like a dog on his hindquarters.

"But don't think we will grow old here," went on the csikos, "we are not going to stick for ever on this meadow-land. When I was a little child I saw beautiful tri-colour banners waving, and splendid Hussars dashing after them. . . . . How I envied them! . . . . Then later, I saw those same Hussars dying and wounded, and the beautiful tri-colour flag dragged through the mire, . . . . but that will not always last. There will come a day when we will bring out the old flag from under the eaves, and ride after it, brave young lads, to crack the bones of those wicked Cossacks! And you will come with me, my good old horse, at the trumpet's call."

As if he heard the trumpet sounding, Vidam sprang up, pawed the turf with his forefeet, and, with mane bristling and head erect, neighed into the night. Like the outposts of the camp, all the stallions on the puszta neighed back an answer.