The excursionists had reached the summit, and looked into the cave.
Lucetta related the legend of the hermit: how he had sojourned there for
several years--never descending to the town, but trusting to the
shepherds, and others who strayed over the mountains, to furnish him
with his frugal fare; how he had at last mysteriously disappeared from
the place, no one knowing where he had gone. But there was a story of
his having been carried off by the brigands; and another that he was a
brigand himself, having kept this post for purposes of observation.
"What did the shepherds say?" asked the Captain Count, by way of showing
his superior intelligence. "They should have known something of the
fellow's daily avocations; since, as you say, they provided him with his
daily food. But, perhaps, his doings, like those of many others, were
in the dark."
"Suppose you ask them, Signor Captain," said Lucetta, with a languid
smile at the somewhat cloudy insinuation. "There they are, coming up
the mountain."
The young lady pointed to a ravine scarring the hill on the side
opposite to that on which lay the town. Along its bed five men were
seen driving before them a flock of sheep, as if bringing them up to
browse on the mountain. They were already within a hundred yards of the
summit upon which stood the spectators.
The men were all dressed in coarse _frezadas_ hanging down to their
thighs, with the usual straw hat upon their heads, and sandals upon
their feet. They carried long sticks, which they occasionally used in
conducting their charge up the ravine. One of them wore the _capuce_,
hooded over his head, a thing that seemed strange under the hot noonday
sun.
The officer had promised to respond to the challenge of the signorina as
soon as the shepherds should be near enough for conversation. They were
coming direct towards the spot where the pleasure party awaited their
approach.
"How very odd," said the young Englishman, addressing himself to the
sister of Luigi, "are some of the customs of your country--at least they
seem so to me. Your countrymen appear to lack economy in the
distribution of labour. For example, with us, in England, one man will
easily manage a flock of five hundred sheep, having only a dog to assist
him; while here you see five men driving less than a fifth of the
number, and not very skilfully, as it appears to me."
"Oh!" rejoined Lucetta, in defence of the native industry, "our
shepherds usually have a much larger flock. No doubt these have more,
and have left them on the mountains opposite--perhaps because there
would not be enough pasture--"
The explanation was interrupted by the approach of the sheep, whose
tinkling bells drowned the discourse. Soon after the shepherds strode
up, leaving their charge to go scattering over the summit. Instead of
waiting for the Captain Count to begin the conversation, one of the
_pastores_ took the initiative, bluntly opening with the
salutation--"_Buono giorno, signori. Molto buono giorno, signora
bella_." (Good day, gentlemen. A fair good day, beautiful lady.)
The speech was complimentary; but the manner seemed to have a different
meaning. There was something in the tone of voice that jarred on the
ears of the young Englishman.
"Free speakers, these Italian _pastores_," was the reflection he was
making to himself, when the spokesman continued--
"We've been seeking one of our sheep," said he, "and have been hitherto
unable to find it. We fancy it has strayed to this mountain. Have you
seen anything of it?"
"No, my good friends," answered the officer smilingly, and in a tone
intended to conciliate the inquirers, whose rude style of address could
no longer be mistaken.
"Are you sure, signore? Are you quite sure of what you say?"
"Oh, quite sure. If we had seen the animal we should be most happy--"
"Your sheep is not here," interrupted the young Englishman, who could no
longer stand the _pastore's_ impertinence. "You know it is not. Why do
you repeat your questions?"
"You lie!" cried one of the shepherds, who had not yet spoken--he who
wore the red hood. "It _is_ here. You, _Signor Inglese_, are the stray
we are in search of. Thank our gracious Virgin, we've found you in such
goodly company. We shall take back to our flock three sheep instead of
one; and one of them such a beautiful young ewe--just the sort for our
charming mountain pastures!"
Before the man had done speaking, Henry Harding recognised him. The
voice was sufficient; but the _capuce_, now thrown back upon his
shoulders, revealed the sinister countenance of Corvino!
"Corvino!" was the exclamation that passed mechanically from the lips of
his late captive; and before its echo could reverberate from the
adjoining cave, he was seized by two of the disguised bandits--the other
two flinging themselves on the officer, while the chief himself laid
hold of Lucetta.
With a desperate effort the young Englishman wrenched his arms free.
But he had no weapon; and of what use would be his fists against the two
assailants, who had now drawn their daggers, and were again advancing
upon him? The young lady was still struggling in the embrace of the
brigand chief--her cries loud enough to be heard all over the town.
Meanwhile Guardiola was making no resistance, not even to the drawing of
his sword, which was still dangling uselessly by his side.
With a quick eye Henry Harding perceived it; and, dashing between the
two brigands who were closing upon him, he caught the weapon by the
guard. Plucking it out of its sheath, he turned like a tiger upon his
special opponents. The cowards shrank back; as they did so drawing
their pistols, and firing at random. Neither of their shots took
effect; and, in another instant, the swordsman was by the side of
Corvino.
With a cry the brigand chief let go his struggling prize, and turned to
receive the attack--flinging off his _frezada_ and drawing a revolver--
for this weapon had found its way into the hands of the Italian
banditti. As good luck would have it, the first cap missed fire; and,
before he could draw trigger upon a second, the sword of Guardiola,
wielded by a more skilful hand than that of its owner, had rendered the
brigand's arm idle, and the revolver dropped to the ground.
Alas! it was to no purpose. Before Henry Harding could follow up the
thrust with one more deadly, he was assailed from behind by four fresh
adversaries: for the two in charge of Guardiola had let him loose, and
the Captain Count was now running down the mountain slope as fast as his
scared legs could carry him.
With the young Englishman it was now one against five, or rather one to
four; for the brigand chief, on seeing his four satellites engaged with
a single adversary, threw his left arm around Lucetta, and, raising her
aloft, hurried off towards the ravine, up which, as a shepherd, he had
ascended.