He obeyed, holding it in his left hand.
They heard the robbers run along the road; then, seeing that they had missed their victims, these returned again, five or six of them, and fell to searching the ravine. But the light was very bad, for here the rays of the moon did not penetrate, and they could find nothing. Presently two of them halted within five paces of them and began to talk, saying that the swine must still be hidden in the yard, or perhaps had doubled back for Motril.
“I don’t know where they are hidden,” answered the other man; “but this is a poor business. Fat Pedro’s arm is cut clean off, and I expect he will bleed to death, while two of the other fellows are dead or dying, for that long-legged Englishman hits hard, to say nothing of those who drank the drugged wine, and look as though they would never wake. Yes, a poor business to get a few doubloons and please a priest, but oh! if I had the hogs here I——” And he hissed out a horrible threat. “Meanwhile we had best lie up at the mouth of this place in case they should still be hidden here.”
Peter heard him and listened. All the other men had gone, running back along the road. His blood was up, and the thorn pricks stung him sorely. Saying no word, out of his lair he came with that terrible sword of his aloft.
The men caught sight of him, and gave a gasp of fear. It was the last sound that one of them ever made. Then the other turned and ran like a hare. This was he who had uttered the threat.
“Stop!” whispered Peter, as he overtook him—“stop, and do what you promised.”
The brute turned, and asked for mercy, but got none.
“It was needful,” said Peter to Castell presently; “you heard—they were going to wait for us.”
“I do not think that they will try to murder any more Englishmen at that inn,” panted Castell, as he ran along beside him.