"To find one," answered Tzarevich Alexé. "I seek the stronghold of Kastchey the Wizard, who hath stolen away my little mother."
"Thou art on the right track," said the other, "but thou wilt not be able to reach it."
"Why not?" asked the Tzarevich.
"Because," said the gray-beard, "there are three broad rivers between, over which thou must be ferried, and the price asked is a great one."
Tzarevich Alexé threw the old man a piece of money. "I have gold and to spare," he said haughtily, and spurring forward, rode on to the first of the three rivers. There waited on its bank a ferryman covered with scales of copper like a tortoise, with a head like a cask and so huge of stature that the horses that carried the Tzarevich's ten men snorted with terror and turning, galloped away with their riders. The Tzarevich approached trembling and asked: "O ferryman, wilt thou ferry me over?"
"If thou pay me my price," answered the ferryman.
"And what is thy price?" asked the Tzarevich.
"I will bring thee back for naught," said the other, "but for carrying thee across, I shall strike off thy right hand."
