Mitu Tega returned to the house much annoyed. As he entered his wife asked him:
"Well, has he not turned up yet?"
"No, not to-day either."
"This is what happens when you rely on an unknown man, a stranger. Suppose he never comes. God forbid that he should go off with the whole herd!"
Tega did not reply. He sat motionless in the silent veranda, which gradually grew dark with shadows of the evening mist, and pondered. Of course such things did happen; he might have taken the goats and gone off, in which case let him find him who can! Where could one look for him? Whither could one follow him?
And as he meditated thus he seemed to see the shepherd before his eyes; he called to mind the first day he had seen him; a terrible man, like a wild man from the woods, with a great moustache lost in a hard, black beard, which left only his eyes and cheek-bones visible. He came into him, and without looking him in the face, said:
"I have heard--some people told me that you want a man to tend the bucks. Take me, I am a shepherd."
Tega gave him one look, he was just the kind of man he wanted. He asked him:
"Where do you come from?"
"I come--well, from Blatza. Toli--Toli the shepherd--I have been with many other goat owners."
Tega looked at him again, considered a little, and said:
"Good, I'll take you; may you prove honest, for, look, many a man has cheated me, and many a man has stolen from me up to now."
And so he engaged him. Toli stayed with Tega, and no one could have conducted himself better.
A month later they went together to the Salonica district, where they bought goats, over eight hundred head. When it was time to return, Tega--for fear of attack by brigands--went ahead secretly, leaving Toli to follow on alone with the herd. The days slipped by--one week, two--Toli did not put in an appearance. What could have happened? Many ideas passed through Tega's brain. Especially after what his wife had said. At night he could not sleep. He dozed for a while, and then woke again, with his mind on the shepherd, tormenting himself, until the crowing of the cocks heralded the dawn. Then he got up; and, as he was short and plump, he took a staff in his hand, and proceeded to the nearest hill whence could be seen the country opening out as flat as the palm of a hand.
At that hour the first blush of dawn glowed in the east. And slowly, slowly rose the sun. Round, purple, fiery, it lit first the crests of the mountains, then flashed its rays into the heart of the valleys; the window-panes in the village suddenly caught the fiery light; the birds began to fly; on the ground, among the glistening dew, flowers raised their heads out of the fresh grass, a wealth of daisies and buttercups like little goblets of gold. But Mitu Tega had no time for such things. His eyes were searching the landscape. Something was moving yonder--a cloud of dust.
"The herd, it is the herd!" murmured Tega.
He could hear the light, soft tinkle of the bells, sounding melodiously in the spring morning. And see, see--the herd drew near, the bell-carrier in front, two dogs with them, and last of all the shepherd with his cloak round his shoulder.
"Welcome," cried Tega with all his heart. "But, Toli, you have tarried a long while. I was beginning to wonder----"
"What would you, I did not come direct, I had to go round."
The bucks played around, a fine, picked lot with silky hair, they roamed about, and Tega felt as though he, too, could skip about, could take the shepherd in his arms, and embrace him for sheer joy.
As in other years, Tega kept the herd on the neighbouring slopes, on the Aitosh hills. It was Toli's business to get the bread, salt, and all that was needed, and once every two or three days, leaving the herd in the care of a comrade, he would take his way to his employer's house. Usually Tega's wife would be spinning at her wheel when he went in.
"Good day!"
"Welcome, Toli," the woman said pleasantly. "Tega is not at home at present, but sit down, Toli, sit down, and wait till he comes."
The shepherd took off his cloak, and did not say another word.
The veranda where they were sitting was upstairs; through the open windows the eye could follow the distant view; the hills lay slumbering in the afternoon light, along their foot lay a road--processions of laden mules, whole caravans ascending slowly and laboriously, winding along in bluish lines till lost to sight over the brow of the hill. The woman followed them with her eyes, and without moving, from her wheel, pointing with her hand, she said:
"There are sheepfolds yonder, too, aren't there?"
The shepherd nodded his head.
"I never asked you, Toli, how are the goats doing? Do you think my man chose well this year?"
"Well, very well."
That was all. He said no more. His deep-set eyes were sad, and black as the night. A minute later footsteps sounded in the garden, and then the voice of a neighbour:
"Where are you, dear, where have you hidden yourself?"
"Here, Lena, here," replied the woman upstairs.
Lena mounted the stairs. Behind her came Doda Sili and Mia; they had all brought their work, for they would not go away till late in the evening.
"Have you heard?" asked Lena.
"What?"
"Two more murders."
Suspicion had fallen upon Gardana. He had become a kind of vampire about whom many tales were told. Especially old men, if they could engage you in conversation, would try and impress you with the story.
In a village lived a maiden, modest and very beautiful. She was small, of the same age as Gardana, who was a boy then. They were fond of each other, they played together, they kissed each other--they kissed as children kiss. But after a while the girl's form took on the soft curves of coming womanhood; then it came to pass that they never kissed each other, they knew not why, and when they were alone they did not venture to look into each other's eyes; she would blush like a ripe apple, and Gardana's lips would tremble. Then there appeared upon the scene, from somewhere, a certain Dina, son of a rich somebody; the girl pleased him, and he sent her an offer of marriage. Her father did not think twice, her father gave her to him.
And Gardana--would you believe it--after he realized that it was hard fact, gnashed his teeth, beat his breast, and disappeared. Two days later he was on the mountains, and a gang with him.
Eh! love knows no bounds, love builds, but love also destroys many homes.
The girl's father was seized and murdered; not long after Dina was murdered too. Then Gardana spread terror for many years in succession.
For some time now, whatever he might have been doing, wherever he might be in hiding, nothing had been heard of him. But as soon as something happened, his name once again passed round the village: "Gardana, it is Gardana!"
Perhaps it was not he, perhaps he had left the mountains, perhaps even he was dead; but the people who knew something----
"How many did you say there were?" asked Mia.
"Two; both merchants. They came from abroad."
"And who can have murdered them?"
"No one but--Gardana."
"How is it? But is Gardana still alive?"
"Come, do you think he really is dead? No, no, they alone give this kind of tidings of themselves."