“It was promised, and we know that an Englishman always keeps his word. It is so, is it not? An Englishman’s word is never broken?”
“Never. But who is with them?” asked Wylie, puzzled and uneasy, he knew not why.
“None of us. We despatched them alone, the two women riding on horses. Hasten after them, lest some other harm befall them. See!” He whistled, and brigands rose out of every bush, like the clansmen of Roderick Dhu. “We are all here. The Capitan can count the whole band.”
Wylie counted, and found none absent, and he and Armitage withdrew, awkwardly enough. As they reached the inn, a peasant who was talking to the landlord turned and looked at them.
“You are the person for whom I had a message,” he said. “I met a man and two women riding towards Therma, and they bade me watch for a European gentleman with blue eyes, and tell him that they would reach the city first.”
Wylie flung the man a coin, and shouting to Armitage to pay the reckoning, rushed indoors to fetch their belongings. These were soon piled upon the donkeys, and they set out, Wylie keeping the cavalcade moving at a smart pace, for the desire to see his friends again was heightened by the anxiety inspired by Stoyan’s words. As they hurried on, a voice hailed them suddenly from the mountain-side, and, looking up, they saw Milosch standing on a jutting crag.
“When you not find zat you seek,” he cried, “remember ze perjured oass!”
“What in the world is a perjured oass?” said Armitage. “Does he mean oaf?” with vague reminiscences of Kipling.
“From what I know of the gentleman, I should say he meant a broken oath,” said Wylie. “But I don’t know of any broken oath, unless they’ve broken theirs. Come on.”