and stood for half a minute staring at one another without saying a word.
At last Kharko whistled in that insolent way of his, and said:
"Ah, ha! ah, ha! So that's the game, is it?"
"And what did you think?" asked the devil.
"Now I know the kind of a queer bird you are!"
"I'm what you see I am."
"Then you're the one who—last year—?"
"Of course."
"And you're after him?"
"You're right. And what do you think of my plan?"
Kharko stretched his limbs, blew a puff of smoke, and answered:
"Take him! I won't cry over him. I'm a poor man. It's none of my business. I'll sit in the inn smoking my pipe till a third one comes along."
Once more the devil roared with laughter, but the soldier only slung his boots across his back and walked rapidly away. As he passed the sycamore tree the miller heard him muttering to himself:
"So that's the game, is it? He's carried off one and now he's come back for the other. Well, it's none of my business. When the devil got the Jew the miller got the goods. Now he's come for the miller and the goods will be mine. A soldier is his own master. Now that I've the business in my own hands, let's see if I can't keep it. I'll not be poor
