Chapter Fifty Two.
A Suffocating Drink.
It wanted an hour of midnight when the brigand vedette stationed at the mountain foot heard the howl of the Apennine wolf three times repeated.
“Il capo, I suppose,” he muttered, as after answering the signal, he stood up to take note of who was making approach. Himself concealed, he could see any one coming, time enough to sound another signal to the sentry on the summit of the hill. This would communicate the character of the approaching party—whether friendly or hostile; which by him above would in turn be telegraphed on to the quarters of the band.
The vedette soon perceived that his conjecture was correct. The chief came up, stopping only to mutter some inquiry, and then passed on. He was closely followed by a woman, whose fine silken skirt, seen under the coarse frezada that hung down from her shoulders, told she was richly robed; while her drooping head and slow unwilling step proclaimed her a captive. The capuce drawn over her head concealed her face from the eyes of the sentinel, who could tell, however, by her dress, and the small white hand grasping the folds of the frezada, that she was a signorina. Four other men—bandits in the disguise of shepherds—going in single file, followed after. The wolf-howl was uttered as they passed; its notes preceding them up the gorge, and receiving a response from the sentry at the summit. And then silence succeeded, broken only by an occasional rumbling noise, as some fragments of rock, detached by the feet of the ascending bandits, came rolling back down the declivity.
“That’s the new wife, I take it,” soliloquised the sentry, as soon as the party had gone past. “I should have liked a squint at her face. No doubt it’s a pretty one, or our dainty capo wouldn’t have taken all this trouble to secure her. His arm in a sling, too! The bird hasn’t been caught without a scuffle. I wonder if it be that sindico’s daughter there’s been such talk about. Like enough it is. Enfedi mia! Corvino strikes at high game. Well, after all, what’s better than to be the cara sposa of a brigand? Plenty of jewellery, rings, chains, lockets, and bracelets; plenty of confetti and kisses. What more can a woman want? And plenty of cuffing if she don’t properly deport herself.” Chuckling at his coarse jest, the vedette once more resumed his seat upon the rock; and, folding his frezada around him, relapsed into silence.
About an hour after, he was again startled from his sedentary attitude by the well-known wolf-howl. As before, the signal came from the outside—from the scorza that led toward the Roman frontier.
“E cosi!” he muttered; “what others are abroad to-night? I only remember the capo and his party. Now I think of it, Tommaso went out in the morning—on some fool’s errand. I wonder the capo trusts Master Tommaso, after that ugly disclosure about his cara Popetta. Poverina! if she were alive to see what’s going on, wouldn’t there be trouble in the camp! Corpo di Bacco! there again! Don’t be in such an infernal hurry, Signor Tommaso. Let me gather my breath for the answer. Wah-wah-oouah!” he howled out in response, giving the lugubrious signal; “now you may come on.”
Shortly after, a figure was seen stealthily approaching through the darkness, but with a step that showed a thorough acquaintance with the path.