The effect of the new management could everywhere be seen. The road along the crest of the ridge bordered the stands of timber, and Balint now saw that every two hundred metres there had been placed numbered stakes that marked the boundaries of each hundred-acre stand that was ready to be felled. It was the same system that had been so highly developed on the Uzdy property, and Balint was pleased to see that at last a beginning had been made to modernize the exploitation of the Abady forests.
When they reached the summit of the crest they were joined by old Zsukuczo who, after the fashion of the mountain people, knelt briefly in front of Abady and kissed the hem of his coat before asking where they were going. When Balint told him that they were heading for the Prislop meadows the old man took the lead, for this was in his territory. At the crossroads near Toszerat, they found waiting for them Juanye Vomului, the forest guard for the next district who was wearing a giant sheepskin cap, a wide belt studded with nails and his most elaborate national dress to underline the fact that he owned his own land and was not a cotter, or tied worker, like the other gornyiks. Balint’s party had now increased to six, including the Mariassa himself. About midday they arrived at their destination on the Prislop. Here they made camp.
The spot chosen by Zutor was indeed beautiful. It was a rich meadow that sloped gently down between woods of mixed beech and fir trees to the valley of Feherviz — the White Water — behind which rose the mass of the Humpleu. Above that towered the summit of the Vortup. It was here, at the heart of the Abady forests, that he had decided to build a hunting lodge. Now he started to plan where it should be sited and when he had marked the spot and returned to camp with Honey in faithful attendance, the afternoon was already drawing in. Old Zsukuczo, whose function on this trip was to find water, then asked Abady if he would like to shoot a kapre de paduren — a roebuck, telling him that he knew all their haunts in this part of the forest.
‘But I haven’t brought a gun!’ said Balint.
‘Nu bai— it doesn’t matter!’ said Zsukuczo with an exaggerated wink from one of his red-rimmed eyes. ‘Tarabun — look here!’ and he unslung his own Werdli rifle which, as an official forest guard, he was entitled always to carry. The old poacher had looked after his gun with loving care and had indeed himself improved it, filing down the sight at the barrel’s end so that a more accurate aim could be obtained. Balint agreed that he would very much like to kill a buck and, after sending Honey back to the camp, set off into the undergrowth with Zsukuczo leading the way.
There was no road or trail, not even a track, but the old poacher marched on without for an instant pausing, and found such an easy way through the dense thickets that Balint scarcely had to brush away branches in front of his face or step over a fallen log. Sometimes it seemed that the young growth of fir trees was so thick that they would not be able to go any farther, but the old man, by turning this way or that, always got through without difficulty: and, whether he was walking over moss or on a carpet of dry beech leaves, which of all substances crackled the most when walked upon, his tread was always silent and twigs never snapped under his feet though he wore hobnailed boots as large as boats.
They went on slowly and cautiously until they reached an ancient white fir. Here Zsukuczo stopped, checked the direction of the wind, and then bent down and swept clean a small patch of pine-needles. Then he knelt down facing the trunk of the old tree and, bowing his head to the ground, murmured something that sounded like a prayer. Then he traced a cross on the earth where his master was to sit, and also on the bark against which he would lean his back. When this ceremony was over he whispered: ‘Poftyic Mariassa!’ and crawled behind the tree.
Balint was fascinated and amused by these antics. Even if no game were conjured up it would have been worth coming all this way merely to watch Zsukuczo’s peasant magic at work. He doubted if any deer would come near them here in the depth of the woods, for surely there would have been more hope of game if they had stopped at the edge of a clearing, or on some jutting rock which overlooked the sort of open space where deer liked to graze, rather than here where one could not see further than twenty paces. This was all quite ridiculous, he thought. All the same he sat down obediently so as not to offend the pride of the old gornyik. Behind the tree Zsukuczo was muttering some prayer or incantation and the murmuring sound was continued for about half an hour. Then a soft rustling could be heard — tip tip tip — and then a more confident step, and suddenly a doe slipped out of the thicket of low branches of fir and ground elder. She came cautiously but calmly, two fawns at her heels. She looked directly at the hunter seated under the tree, her large gentle eyes unblinking and confident, stamped twice with her forefeet and then, as he did not move, herself moved slowly forward confidently grazing all the while, her two offspring still behind her. They passed by, barely three yards from Balint, and disappeared into the undergrowth on the other side of the clearing.
Zsukuczo emerged from behind the tree looking puzzled. He seemed almost angry, demanding why the Mariassa had not lifted his gun for the kill. ‘Why? Why? The game was here, here!’ Abady explained that only buck could be shot and it was forbidden to shoot does, especially when followed by their young. ‘A se!A se!’ muttered the old man, nodding his head in apparent agreement while thinking to himself that these noble lords were strange animals and that you could never know what odd quirks they had in their heads. However, since Balint rewarded him with a five-crown piece, he regained his good humour at once and swiftly guided his Mariassa through the dark woods and back to their camp.
Abady remained three days more on the Prislop, though the rain predicted by Honey started that very evening.
Even the rain seemed different. The clouds settled low over the valleys completely shrouding the mountain tops. Here, where Balint camped, one could not always see the tops of the trees and when one could the clouds formed a dense impenetrable blanket of fog only a few feet higher. The rain fell so heavily that it looked like ropes falling from the sky. Everything was soaked and even Balint’s thick Austrian rain-coat was soon like a sponge. Because the expedition had been decided upon so suddenly he had only one change of clothes and two pairs of boots, one hobnailed, the other with rubber soles, and all these were drenched with water by the end of the second day. In the tent, too, though a deep ditch had been dug all round it, water flowed everywhere. By the second evening Balint had to strip to the skin and dine wrapped in a damp blanket, while his clothes were hung up near the fire in the shelter built by the gornyiks. He hoped they would be dry by morning. It was like a Kneipp cure, he said to himself as he huddled down into the steaming wool and laughed out loud because he was so happy. The daylight hours were spent walking, walking, walking until he exhausted himself. With Honey as his guide Balint climbed over all the neighbouring mountains, checking on the improvements made by the new forestry manager. When the whole area of the Prislop had been covered, they moved camp to the head of the Vale Saka at the base of the Vlegyasza. Here Balint stayed another three days. The rain never stopped.