“By gum!” ejaculated George.
It was Slavianski. His glance was but momentary; he turned about to face his enemy, and the Bucklands noticed that in spite of the peril of his situation he appeared quite unperturbed. His right arm had been wounded; he grasped his revolver with his left hand, and his mouth was set with grim determination. But just as Maurice and George sprang from their horses he swayed, staggered, and fell to the ground. And then from beyond the rocks rushed Giulika, Giorgio, Marko, and the other men of his household. Maurice shouted to them to halt, not before two or three shots had been exchanged between them and Slavianski’s escort.
Hostilities ceased. While some of the men kept a watch on Slavianski, Giulika warmly greeted his former guests.
“Welcome, excellencies,” he said. “You are come in time to see vengeance taken on your enemy and mine.”
“How does he come here?” asked Maurice.
“The Austrian dog, when running down the steep path towards the Drin that day, fell and broke his thigh,” answered the old man. “We did not learn of it until the other day. He has been laid up ever since in the house of a man of Trebischte, who is a famous bone-setter. But it was a bad case, and needed much time, and only now is the cure complete, and one leg will always be shorter than the other.
“A few days ago we learnt by examining the breastbone of a black cock, one of my own breeding, that an enemy would fall into our hands, and we made besa with Leka until this happy event should come to pass. And lo! one told me that the man from Trebischte was taking to Durazzo the Austrian who burnt my kula when he found that you had escaped; and we made an ambush for him here, and we have him, and now he shall die.”
“Let me have a word with him,” said Maurice.
Slavianski was seated on a rock. His escort of two were amicably chatting with Giulika’s party. Maurice, as he went up to him, was struck by his worn and haggard appearance.
“I hear you had an accident, Monsieur le Comte,” he said in French.