Page:Zakhar Berkut(1944).djvu/217

 “Behadir,” said Tuhar Wolf to Burunda, “can’t we somehow manage to save at least our own lives?”

“What for?” Burunda questioned sullenly.

“Life is sweeter than death!”

“I suppose so,” replied Burunda, and his eyes glistened not with any real desire to live but to get his revenge. “What shall we do?”

“Perhaps they would be willing now to grant us our lives and freedom in exchange for the return of the prisoner.”

“Let’s try it!” approved Burunda and grabbing Maxim by the front of his shirt, he pulled him up before him. Beside him stood Tuhar Wolf who began to wave with a white kerchief.

“Tukholians!” he called, turning his face upwards toward the bank. Everything quieted down.

“Tell them that if they want this slave returned to them alive they must grant us our lives and set us at liberty. If they refuse, we will know how to die, but first he will die, right before their eyes.”

“Tukholians!” called Tuhar Wolf, “The Mongolian commander promises to return this prisoner to you sound and well and asks in return that you set those of us who are now left at liberty. If you do not consent, then inevitable death is awaiting him.”

As if desiring to convince them of the reality of his threat, Burunda raised his terrible battle-axe over the head of the unarmed Maxim.

The entire community stood petrified with horror. Old Zakhar shuddered and turned his eyes away from the sight which tore at his heart strings.

“Zakhar,” said the Tukholian elders gathering around him.

“We think it is all right to accept this proposition. The bulk of the Mongolian army is vanquished and those few remaining men should not frighten us.”