“He is gone to fetch the band.”
“The band! what band?”
“Those who will cut your throat and take your gold. Wretched man; to go and shake gold in an innkeeper's face!”
The blow came so unexpectedly it staggered even Denys, accustomed as he was to sudden perils. He muttered a single word, but in it a volume.
“Gerard!”
“Gerard! What is that? Oh, 'tis thy comrade's name, poor lad. Get him out quick ere they come; and fly to the next town.”
“And thou?”
“They will kill me.”
“That shall they not. Fly with us.”
“'Twill avail me nought: one of the band will be sent to kill me. They are sworn to slay all who betray them.”