“I have come to ask for vengeance,” the woman panted. “Prato has this afternoon shot my husband, and for what? Merely because he said that if the band were not going to do anything, he would return home. That was all; and Prato drew his pistol and shot him. My Antonio! I cannot bring him to life again, but I can avenge him. Signor, the band of Prato, the most merciless and most famous of our chiefs, lies but five miles away; I will lead you to the place, but you must swear to me that you will show him no mercy. If you take him prisoner, he will escape: no judge in the island dare convict him, no jailor would dare keep his door shut. I must have his life-blood; unless you will swear this I will not take you to him. As for the others, I care not, but I should like them all to be killed, for they laughed when Prato shot my Antonio like a dog; but I bargain not for them. Do as you will with them, but Prato must die. I ask no reward—I would not touch blood money; I ask only for vengeance,” and in her excitement she fell on her knees, and waving her arms above her head, poured down a string of maledictions upon the brigand chief.
“I can promise you that he shall not be taken prisoner,” Rubini said. “The villain has committed a score of murders; but he might escape.”
“He will fight to the last,” the woman said; “he is a devil, but he is no coward. But he would find it difficult to escape. His fires are lit at the foot of a crag, and if you approach him on both sides and in front, he must fight.”
“How many men has he?”
“Thirty-seven, counting himself, signor; but you will take them by surprise, and can shoot down many before they can fire a shot.”
“What do you think, Zippo?” Rubini asked, drawing his comrade two or three paces aside. “The man is one of the most notorious brigands in the mountains. There has been a big reward offered for him, dead or alive, for years past; it would be a grand service if we could destroy him and his band, and we should earn the gratitude of all the towns and villages below there.”
“Yes, it would be a grand exploit,” the sergeant said eagerly, “for us to accomplish what the Neapolitan troops and carabinieri have so long failed to do. Per Baccho, ‘tis a glorious stroke of luck.”
“That is what I think,” Rubini said. Then he went to the woman. “We are ready to aid you to avenge your husband,” he said. “You know your way through the forest in the dark?”
“I know it well. Prato’s band has been in this neighbourhood for months past, and I have been in here scores of times to buy provisions. There are two or three paths by which you might go, and I know all of them; if you like you can carry a lantern until you are within half a mile of them. The forest goes well-nigh up to the cliff.”