The Ohat puszta is the pasture ground of the "mixed" stud. From the
corral in the centre, all round to the wide circle of horizon, nothing
can be seen but horses grazing. Horses of all colours, which only the
richness of the Hungarian language can find names for: bay, grey, black,
white-faced, piebald, dappled, chestnut, flea-bitten, strawberry,
skewbald, roan, cream-coloured, and, what is rarest among foals,
milk-white. Well does this variety of shade and colour deserve to be
called the "mixed" herd. A gentleman's stud is something very different,
there only horses of one breed and colouring are to be found.
All the horse owners in Debreczin turn out their mares here, where,
summer or winter, they never see a stable, and only the head csikos
keeps account of their yearly increase. Here, too, the famous pacers
are raised, which are sought for from afar; for not every horse can
stand a sandy country, a mountain-bred one, for example, collapses if it
once treads an Alfold road.
Scattered groups are to be seen grazing industriously round the
stallions. For the horse is always feeding. Learned men say that when
Jupiter created Minerva, he cast this curse on the horse, that it might
always eat, yet never be filled.
Four or five mounted csikos watch over the herd, with its thousand or so
unruly colts, and use their thick stock-whips to drive back the more
adventurous.
The arrangement here is the same as with the cattle herd, the "karam" or
shanty, kitchen, wind shelter and well. Only, there is neither
barrow-boy, nor "poor man's peat," nor protecting watch-dog, for the
horse cannot endure any of the canine tribe, and whether it be dog or
wolf, both get kicked.
Noon was approaching, and the widely scattered troops of horses began to
draw towards the great well. Two carriages were also nearing from the
direction of the Hortobagy bridge. The head csikos, a thick-set, bony
old man, shading his eyes with his hand, recognised the new-comers from
afar--by their horses.
"One is Mr. Mihaly Kadar, the other, Pelikan, the horse-dealer. I knew,
when I looked in my calendar, that they would honour me to day."
"Then, is that written in the calendar?" asked Sandor, the herdsman,
surprised.
"Yes, my boy! Everything is in 'Csathy's Almanack.' The Onod cattle
market is on Sunday, and Pelikan must take horses there."
His prognostications were correct. The visitors had come about horses,
Mr. Mihaly Kadar, being the seller, and Mr. Samuel Pelikan, the buyer.
Surely everyone can recognise Mr. Mihaly Kadar--a handsome, round-faced
man, with his smiling countenance and waxed moustache, and figure
curving outwards at the waist. He wore a braided mantle, a round hat,
and held a long, thin walking-stick, the top carved to represent a
bird's head. His was the group of horses standing beside the pool, with
the roan stallion leading them.
Samuel Pelikan was a bony individual, with a large, crooked nose, long
beard and moustache, his back and legs somewhat bent from continually
trying of horses. There was a crane's feather in his high, wide-brimmed
hat, his waistcoat was checked, his jacket short, and his baggy, nankeen
trousers tucked into his top-boots. A cigar case was pushed into his
side pocket, and he carried a long riding-whip.
These gentlemen, leaving their carriages, walked to the "karam" and
shook hands with the overseer, who awaited them there. Then an order was
given to the herdsmen, and they all went out to the herd.
Two mounted csikos, with tremendous cracking of whips, rounded up the
lot of horses, among which were Mr. Kadar's. There were about two
hundred colts in all, some of which had never felt the hand of man. As
they drove them in a long curved line before the experts, the
horse-dealer pointed out a galloping roan mare to the herdsman on the
grass at his side.
"I would like that one!"
Thereupon, Sandor Decsi, casting aside jacket and cloak, seized the
coiled-up lasso in his right hand, wound the other end round his left,
and stepped towards the advancing herd. Swift as lightning, he flung out
the long line at the chosen mare, and with mathematical precision the
noose caught its neck instantly, half throttling it. The other colts
rushed on neighing; the prisoner remained, tossed its head, kicked,
reared, all in vain. There stood the man, holding on to the lasso,
as if made of cast-iron, and with his loose sleeves slipping back,
he resembled one of those ancient Greek or Roman statues--"the
Horse-Tamers." Gradually, in spite of all resistance, and pulling hand
over hand, he hauled in the horse. Its eyes protruded, the nostrils were
dilated, its breathing came in gasps. Then flinging his arms round its
neck, the csikos whispered something in its ear, loosened the noose from
its neck, and the wild, frightened animal became straightway as gentle
as a lamb, readily resigning its head to the halter. They fastened it
directly to the horse-cooper's trap, who hastened to reconcile his
victim with a piece of bread and salt.
This athletic display was three times repeated; nor did Sandor Decsi
once bungle his work. But it happened the fourth time, that the noose
was widely distended, and slipped down to the horse's chest. Not being
choked, it did not yield so easily; but commenced kicking and capering,
and dragged the csikos, at the other end of the line, quite a
considerable distance. But he put forth his strength at last, and led
the captive before his owners.
"Truly that is a finer amusement than playing billiards in the 'Bull,'"
said Pelikan, turning to Mr. Kadar.
"Well, it's his only work!" returned the worthy civilian.
The horse-dealer, opening his cigar case, offered one to the herdsman.
Sandor Decsi took it, struck a match, lit up, and puffed away.
The four raw colts were distributed round the purchaser's carriage; two
behind, one beside the near, and the fourth beside the off horse.
"Well, my friend, you're a great, strong fellow!" observed Mr. Pelikan,
lighting himself a cigar from Sandor's.
"Yes! If he had not been ill!" grumbled the overseer.
"I wasn't ill!" bragged the herdsman, and tossed back his head
contemptuously.
"What on earth, were you then? When a man lies three days in the Mata
Hospital----"
"How can a man lie in the Mata Hospital? It is only for horses!"
"What were you doing then?"
"_Drunk!_" said Sandor Decsi. "As a man has a right to be!"
The old man twisted his moustache, and muttered, half-pleased,
half-vexed, "There, you see these 'betyars'! Not for all the world would
they confess anything had ailed them."
Then the time for payment came round.
They settled the price of the four young horses at eight hundred
florins.
Mr. Pelikan took from his inner pocket a square folded piece of
crocodile leather, this was his purse, and selected a paper from the
pile it contained. There was not a single bank-note, only bills, filled
in and blank.
"I never carry money about me," said the horse-dealer, "only these. They
can steal these if they like, the thieves would only lose by it."
"Which I will accept," said Mr. Kadar in his turn. "Mr. Pelikan's
signature is as good as ready-money."
Pelikan had brought writing materials, a portable inkstand in his
trouser pocket, and a quill pen in his top-boot.
"We'll soon have a writing-table, too," he remarked, "if you will kindly
bring us your horse here, herdsman."
The saddle of Decsi's horse came in very handy as a table on which to
fill in the bill. The herdsman watched with the greatest interest.
And not alone the herdsman, but the horses also. Those same wild colts
which had been scared four times and from whose midst four of their
comrades had just been lassoed, crowded round like inquisitive children,
and without the slightest fear. (It is true Mr. Mihaly Kadar was bribing
them with Debreczin rolls.) One dapple bay actually laid its head on
the dealer's shoulder and looked on in wonder. None of them had ever
seen a bill filled in before.
It is probable that Sandor Decsi expressed the silent thought of each,
when he inquired, "Why do you write 812 florins 18 kreuzers, sir, when
the price was settled at eight hundred florins?"
"Well, herdsman, the reason is that I must pay the sum in ready-money.
Worthy Mr. Kadar here will write his name on the back, and then the bill
will be 'endorsed.' To-morrow morning he will take it to the Savings
Bank, where they will pay out eight hundred florins, but deduct twelve
florins--eighteen kreuzers--as discount, and, therefore, I don't require
to pay the money for three months."
"And if you do not repay it, sir?"
"Why, then, they will take it out of Mr. Kadar. That is why they give me
credit."
"I see. So that is the good of a bill of exchange?"
"Did you never see a bill before?" asked Mr. Pelikan.
Sandor Decsi laughed loud, till his row of fine white teeth flashed.
"A csikos, and a bill!"
"Well, your worthy friend, Mr. Ferko Lacza is quite another gentleman,
and he is only a cowherd. He knows what a bill means. I have just such a
long paper of his, if you would like to see it."
He searched among his documents, and holding one before the csikos,
finally handed him the paper. The bill amounted to ten florins.
"Does Mr. Pelikan know the cowboy?" asked the astonished csikos.
"As far as I know, you do not deal with cattle, sir."
"It is not I, but my wife who has that honour. You see she carries on a
little goldsmith business on her own account. I don't meddle in it at
all. About two months ago, in comes Mr. Ferko Lacza with a pair of
ear-rings, which he wants gilded, very heavily gilded too!"
Sandor started at that, as if a wasp had stung him.
"Silver ear-rings?"
"Yes, very pretty silver, filagree ear-rings, and the gilding came to
ten florins. When done, off he went with them--they were certainly not
for his own use--and as he had no money he left this bill behind him. On
Demeter day he is to meet it."
"This bill?"
Sandor Decsi stared blankly at the paper, and his nostrils quivered. He
might have been laughing from the grin on his face, only the writing
shook in his two hands. He did not let go of it, but grasped it tightly.
"As the bill appears to please you so well, I will give it you as a
tip," said Mr. Pelikan, in a sudden fit of generosity.
"But ten florins, sir, that is a great deal!"
"Of course, it is a great deal for you, and I am no such duffer as to
chuck away ten florins every time I buy a horse. But to tell the truth,
I should be glad to get rid of the bill under such good auspices, like
the shoemaker and his vineyard in the story----"
"Is there something false in it, then?"
"No, nothing false, only too much truth in fact. See, I will explain it
to you, please look here. On this line stands 'Mr. Ferencz Lacza,' then
comes 'residence,' and after that 'payable in.' Now, in both places
'Debreczin' should be written, but that idiotic wife of mine put
'Hortobagy' instead--which is true enough--for Mr. Ferko Lacza does live
on the Hortobagy. Had she written, 'Hortobagy inn' even, I should have
known where to find him, but how can I go roaming about the Hortobagy,
and the Zam puszta, searching the 'karams' of goodness knows how many
herds, and risking my calves among the watch-dogs? I have fought with
the woman quite enough about it. Now, at least, I can say I have handed
it over at cent. per cent. interest, and we will have no more rows. So
accept it, herdsman. You will know how to get the ten florins out of the
cowboy, for you fear neither himself nor his dog."
"Thank you, sir, thank you very, very much."
The csikos folded up the paper and stowed it away in his jacket pocket.
"The young man seems deeply grateful for the ten florin tip," whispered
Mr. Kadar to the overseer. "Generosity brings its own reward."
Mr. Mihaly Kadar was a great newspaper reader, and took the _Sunday
News_ and the _Political Messenger_; hence his lofty style of speech.
"That hasn't much to do with his gladness," growled the overseer. "He
knows well enough that Ferko Lacza went off to Moravia last Friday;
small chance of seeing him or his blessed ten florins again! But he is
glad to be clear about the ear-rings, for there is a girl in that
business."
Mr. Kadar raised the bird's-head top of his cane to his lips
significantly.
"Aha!" he murmured, "that entirely alters the case!"
"You see the boy's my godson, 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 godchild 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 assembled. 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 amusement, 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 mass 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 grass incessantly.
Sandor Decsi was in a gay mood that evening, and as they sat round the
glowing fire, he asked the overseer, "Dear godfather, 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, godson, 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.