"Thus," said he as he made these preparations, "did I carefully load while the unsuspecting Syndic leisurely crossed before my line of fire."
As he said these words the Brigand slowly raised the blunderbuss to his shoulder, leaned his great body forward, and bent his head until an eye of extraordinary brilliance and power was gleaming down the top of the barrel. The concourse was now silent, and the journalist, with an admirable sense of what was required of him, adopted the attitude of a man walking at a leisurely pace, and acted to perfection the part of the Syndic.
"Halt!" roared the Brigand in startling and quite novel tones. The journalist instinctively started, and the Brigand bitterly added: "Must I fire, or will you spare me that expense by laying carefully upon the ground at your feet your watch, your purse, your rings, your pocket-book, and such valuables as you may have about you?"
The journalist with no little hesitation (for he found this too realistic) threw down a coin byway of simulacrum.
"He mocks me!" bellowed the Brigand, while all the crowd applauded. "He hesitates to obey (thus did I speak to the Syndic). Come, empty all your pockets and turn them inside out that I may see them."
The journalist, excusing his pride by the reflection that the whole thing was but a game, with some reluctance did as he was bid. There lay at his feet upon the market square of Radicofani a little heap of valuables, a quantity of private correspondence, a handkerchief and a note-book.
"Now," shouted the Brigand, still carefully aiming at the foreigner's head, "go! Go warily, and step backward if you choose, to assure yourself that I shall not lower my gun."
For some few steps the journalist so walked toward the northern gate, and step by step, keeping his distance, the immense old man pursued, while the crowd with subdued applause, encouraged his action, and with rising menaces bade the stranger not cross the Brigand's purpose, since upon these occasions he was terrible if he was thwarted. When he had nearly reached the limits of the town the unfortunate traveller began to protest that the joke should end. To his horror the reply which reached him, not from the Brigand alone but from many of his supporters, was given in tones of increasing sincerity, and he shuddered to see, or to think he saw, the pressure of the finger upon the trigger. He hesitated for a moment, and then suddenly he ran....
The northern road out of Radicofani is steep: its steepness aided his flight, and when he was well down toward the valley he heard (and that increased his determination) a loud report, and high over his head sung a covey of slugs. He neither looked back nor attempted to order his confused mind, but ran without ceasing until from sheer exhaustion he dropped at the roadside.