Chapter Fifty Two.
A Suffocating Drink.
It wanted an hour of midnight when the brigand vedette stationed at the mountain foot heard the howl of the Apennine wolf three times repeated.
“Il capo, I suppose,” he muttered, as after answering the signal, he stood up to take note of who was making approach. Himself concealed, he could see any one coming, time enough to sound another signal to the sentry on the summit of the hill. This would communicate the character of the approaching party—whether friendly or hostile; which by him above would in turn be telegraphed on to the quarters of the band.
The vedette soon perceived that his conjecture was correct. The chief came up, stopping only to mutter some inquiry, and then passed on. He was closely followed by a woman, whose fine silken skirt, seen under the coarse frezada that hung down from her shoulders, told she was richly robed; while her drooping head and slow unwilling step proclaimed her a captive. The capuce drawn over her head concealed her face from the eyes of the sentinel, who could tell, however, by her dress, and the small white hand grasping the folds of the frezada, that she was a signorina. Four other men—bandits in the disguise of shepherds—going in single file, followed after. The wolf-howl was uttered as they passed; its notes preceding them up the gorge, and receiving a response from the sentry at the summit. And then silence succeeded, broken only by an occasional rumbling noise, as some fragments of rock, detached by the feet of the ascending bandits, came rolling back down the declivity.
“That’s the new wife, I take it,” soliloquised the sentry, as soon as the party had gone past. “I should have liked a squint at her face. No doubt it’s a pretty one, or our dainty capo wouldn’t have taken all this trouble to secure her. His arm in a sling, too! The bird hasn’t been caught without a scuffle. I wonder if it be that sindico’s daughter there’s been such talk about. Like enough it is. Enfedi mia! Corvino strikes at high game. Well, after all, what’s better than to be the cara sposa of a brigand? Plenty of jewellery, rings, chains, lockets, and bracelets; plenty of confetti and kisses. What more can a woman want? And plenty of cuffing if she don’t properly deport herself.” Chuckling at his coarse jest, the vedette once more resumed his seat upon the rock; and, folding his frezada around him, relapsed into silence.
About an hour after, he was again startled from his sedentary attitude by the well-known wolf-howl. As before, the signal came from the outside—from the scorza that led toward the Roman frontier.
“E cosi!” he muttered; “what others are abroad to-night? I only remember the capo and his party. Now I think of it, Tommaso went out in the morning—on some fool’s errand. I wonder the capo trusts Master Tommaso, after that ugly disclosure about his cara Popetta. Poverina! if she were alive to see what’s going on, wouldn’t there be trouble in the camp! Corpo di Bacco! there again! Don’t be in such an infernal hurry, Signor Tommaso. Let me gather my breath for the answer. Wah-wah-oouah!” he howled out in response, giving the lugubrious signal; “now you may come on.”
Shortly after, a figure was seen stealthily approaching through the darkness, but with a step that showed a thorough acquaintance with the path.
“Chi e’ la?” hailed the sentry, as if some presentiment had increased his caution.
“Amico!” responded the person approaching; “why do you hail? I am Tommaso.”
“Ah! Signor Tommaso! I had forgotten that you were out. I thought you had gone in along with the others.”
“What others?” inquired Tommaso, with interest he endeavoured to conceal under a pretence of ill-humour.
“What others?” echoed the unreflecting sentinel; “why, Corvino himself, to be sure, and the party of pastores that went abroad with him. You were at the rendezvous when they left?”
“Ah, true,” carelessly remarked Tommaso. “But I thought they had got back before night. How long since they passed up?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Well, have they made anything by their sheep-driving?”
“A lamb. A young ewe, I take it, from what I could see of her wool. Dio Santo! there must have been sharp horns in the flock from which they have separated her. Our capo has had a thrust from some old ram. I could see blood upon his shirt.”
“Wounded, you think. Where?”
“In the right, arm. He was nursing it in a sling. There must have been a fight, I suppose. Did you hear nothing of it outside?”
“How could I? I’ve been too busy, and in a different direction.”
“I hope you’ve not been so busy as to hinder you from filling your flask, Signor Tommaso.”
“Por Bacco, no!” answered the latter, evidently more pleased than offended by the reminder. “I always find time for that. You want a pull, I suppose?”
“You’re right there, compagno; it’s a bit chilly upon post to-night, and a gill of rosolio would give me an infinite amount of comfort.”
“You shall have it. I can’t accommodate you with a cup. Can I trust the bottle in your hands?”
“Che demonio! yes. You don’t suppose, signor, I am going to rob you? A single pull will content me.”
“Here, then,” said Tommaso, handing over the leather bottle. “I’ll give you a good chance. You can swig away while I am counting twenty. Will that suffice?”
“Mille grazzie! yes. You are very generous, Signor Tommaso.”
The man, laying aside his carbine, caught hold of the proffered flask, from which Tommaso had already removed the stopper. Then, with the exclamation, “Oh me felice!” he took the neck between his lips. Turning his countenance skywards, he commenced imbibing the delicious liquor in long, copious draughts.
Tommaso had watched for this opportunity; and, suddenly stepping forward, he seized hold of the flask with his right hand, while with his left he grasped the brigand by the back of the neck. Then kicking his feet from under him, he flung the fellow back downwards on the grass, at the same time falling on top of him.
The vedette, thus taken aback, was hindered from resisting through sheer astonishment. He at first supposed it to be a joke, and that Tommaso was too generous of his liquor. Then he became doubtful about the designs of such rough handling; and then angry. He would have called out, but the bottle filling the whole cavity of his mouth, and the rosolio running down his throat, put a stopper to his speech. A few choking sounds escaped him; but, before he could free himself to give a good shout, or utter the oaths he would have done, four other assailants—already summoned by a low whistle from Tommaso—came quickly upon the ground. These, flinging themselves upon the prostrate body of the vedette, soon put an end to his struggles. It ended in their inserting a piece of stick between his teeth, and pinioning his arms to his sides; so that he was not only gagged and speechless, but powerless to stir from the spot.
A large body of men—for whom Tommaso had gone back some distance along the scorza—now came filing past; and, led by the ci-devant brigand, climbed quickly but silently up the gorge—their demeanour showing them bent upon an enterprise requiring the utmost caution.