THE OUTLAW

s of the man travelling on it. Something familiar struck his mind. And the man twitched and stared at him. He shouted, the coachman pulled the horses’ reins and the cab stopped. The Turkish notable got off the cab and, followed by his guards, he came nearer. Stoil then recognized the Sultan’s tax envoy, who once honored his wedding. And the other one had recognized him. He asked him how he had got there and Stoil told him everything from beginning to end.

The notable wrote down his name and the cab drove along its way. Stoil stared for a long time after him, until the bells of the horses faded. Tears glittered in his eyes. Like a wing of a bird, a new hope flashed. If he had written down his name, he would do something for him. They could send him to another place where the regime was not so severe.

A month passed, and they called Stoil to the chief prison warder. What pains were waiting for him ahead, he was thinking. They told him that a sultan’s letter came and they release him. Stoil was astonished. Was that a dream? He nearly went crazy. The Lord was there for him.

He came out from there in torn clothes, skinny, grey-haired and unshaven. He had no idea how long the way to his home village was. Maybe a month or two. But in this miserable appearance he could not go anywhere. He might be mistaken by the Turkish authorities as a thief or a tramp, and they would take him back to jail. His pockets were empty, with no coin in them. He was at the end of the world - the unknown was worrying and scary.

He stopped in a village and started working as a farm-hand, to earn money, to return to his relatives. He worked day and night. He saved some money for returning home. He bought some new clothes and a horse. He got a passport and headed for his birthplace.

He slept on the dirty floors of the roadside inns, sometimes in the bare field. And the nights - quiet and freezing. The stars above him looked indifferently at his fate. Only the sickle of the moon watched over his short, restless sleep until it hid somewhere there in the northwest, where the tops of the Rhodope Mountains were blue.

It was before dawn, and it was still dark when he was setting off along the unknown roads. His horse was dead-tired. He was buying wheat from the markets, and the sacks were hanging on the horse’s saddle. And he felt pity for the animal too, it had a soul, too. He was on the long road again.

And Stoil’s memory of his separation with Milkana did not leave him alone. As if he saw her crying and saying,

“As long as I’m alive, I’ll wait for you to come back...”

He ruined her youth. He left her pitiful for their marriage.

He is already in the Phillipopolis Field. He reached Stanimaka. His fatigue was great, but the heart could not find rest. Stoil started climbing the slopes of the mountain.

It was already late autumn. The woods around were colourful. The autumn leaves