The alguazil made a sign. Cangrejo, gobbling and resisting, was dragged away. There was a little ugly, silent scuffle about the girl; and, in a moment, the group fell apart to watch her being hauled up to the branch by her thumbs.
Ducos looked on greedily.
“How long before she sets to screaming?” he thought, “so that I may escape under cover of it.”
So long, that he grew intolerably restless—wild, furious. He could have cursed her for her endurance.
But presently it came, moaning up all the scale of suffering. And, at that, slinking like a rat through its run, he went down swiftly towards the road—to meet de la Platière and his men already silently breaking cover from it.
And, on the same instant, the Spaniards saw them.
* * * * *
“Peste!” whispered de la Platière “We could have them all at one volley but for that!”
Between the French force, ensconced behind the rocks whither Ducos had led them, and the Spaniards who, completely taken by surprise, had clustered foolishly in a body under the lantern, hung the body of Anita, its torture suspended for the moment because its poor wits were out.
“How, my friend!” exclaimed Ducos. “But for what?”