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 passed 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 tittle-tattle went on pleasantly and quietly as yet, young Mistress
Pundor not having arrived. When she put in an appearance, nobody 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 title of
respect, "ifjasszony" (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 class, 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 buttons, 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 buttons!" said the cloth merchant,
taking the word out of his mouth.
"Let the young mistress here tell us what she has heard. What object
could the pretty lass 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 lassoed 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 assembly. "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 glass 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?