galloped about all over the city, neighing furiously. Even the great Prince Vladimir and the beautiful Princess Aprasievna were more dead than alive.
"Hail to thee, Elie Muromitch, son of Ivanovitch!" said the prince coaxingly. "I beseech thee to remove that Nightingale Thief, for we do not want him here any longer; we have had enough of this sport."
Elie Muromitch seized the Nightingale Thief by his curly black locks, dashed him about on mother earth, then he threw him up into the air, higher than the tallest towers of the sacred palace, and the fragments as they fell were crushed against the stones. After this treatment, death was not long in coming to the thief.
As for Elie Muromitch, he was very handsomely rewarded, and went home through the splendid town of Murom, to his native village of Karatchaev, rich in gifts, and as happy as the day was long, and there he lived in luxury until he died.
