'It is yours, I suppose?' observed the Moscio, interrogatively, for Tebaldo had forgotten to speak. 'There was no other.'
'Yes. I thank you. I am very grateful to you.' The words were as sincere as any the man had ever uttered, and he handed the knife back.
'Not at all,' answered the outlaw. 'It was interesting to see the place. I am glad to have served you. Since you have taken the trouble to come so far, will you accept our hospitality this evening? You can hardly get back to Randazzo to-night. Mauro is in a very good humour this evening, and the weather is pleasant. You will not suffer much inconvenience. The huts are quite dry. We will try and make you some return for your former hospitality.'
Tebaldo accepted readily enough, and they began to ascend the hill at once. It was some distance to the top. The Moscio turned to the right at a big, old chestnut tree.
'That is not the best way,' remarked Tebaldo. 'Keep on another ten yards and then turn to the left. There is an old bridle-path on the other side of the hawthorn bushes.'
The Moscio laughed softly.
'It is a pity that you are not with us,' he said. 'You know the paths better than we do.'
'I was born near here,' answered Tebaldo. 'I have known these woods since I was a boy.'
'I wish I had. I sometimes lose my way in this part of Sicily.'
The path began exactly where Tebaldo had said that it did, the entrance being hidden by hawthorn and blackberry bushes. He went on a few steps, doubled behind the brambles, and led the Moscio along a much better way than the outlaws had discovered for themselves. The outlaw appreciated the advantage, and reflected that Tebaldo could help the band in a thousand ways if he chose. Without passing by the spring, they suddenly found themselves at the top of the hill. The path stopped abruptly against the back of one of the wooden huts, having formerly crossed the summit at this point.