ged his feet and fell.
Ghitza, still fresh and vigorous, grasped another man and called to the
musicians to play an even faster dance than before. When that one had
fallen exhausted to the ground, Ghitza took on a third and a fourth.
Then he began to dance with the maidens. The fiddler's string broke and
the guitar player's fingers were numb. The sun went to rest behind the
mountains and the moon rose in the sky to watch over her little
children, the stars.

But Ghitza was still dancing. There was no trace of fatigue on his face
and no signs of weariness in his steps. The more he danced, the fresher
he became. When he had danced half of the village tired, and they were
all lying on the ground, drinking wine from earthen urns to refresh
themselves, the last string of the fiddle snapped and the musician
reeled from his chair. Only the flute and the guitar kept on.

"Play on, play on, you children of sweet angels, and I shall give to
each of you a young lamb in the morning," Ghitza urged them. But soon
the breath of the flutist gave way. His lips swelled and blood spurted
from his nose. The guitar player's fingers were so numb he could no
longer move them. Then some of the people beat the rhythm of the dance
with their open palms. Ghitza was still dancing on. They broke all the
glasses of the inn and all the bottles beating time to his dance.

The night wore away. The cock crew. Early dogs arose and the sun woke
and started to climb from behind the eastern range of mountains. Ghitza
laughed aloud as he saw all the dancers lying on the ground. Even Maria
was asleep near her mother. He entered the inn and woke the innkeeper,
who had fallen asleep behind the counter.

"Whoa, whoa, you old swindler! Wake up! Day is come and I am thirsty."

After a long drink, he went to his tent to play with the dogs, as he did
early every morning.

A little later, toward noon, he walked over to the smith's shop, shook
hands with Maria's father and kissed the girl on the mouth even as the
helper looked on.

"She shall be your wife, son," the smith said. "She will be waiting for
you when your tribe comes to winter here. And no man shall ever say my
daughter married an unworthy one."

The fame of our tribe spread rapidly. The tale of Ghitza's feat spread
among all the villages and our tribe was respected everywhere. People no
longer insulted us, and many another of our tribe now danced on Sundays
at the inn--yea, our girls and our boys