At these words he gave a shrill whistle, and three other men, clothed like himself, came towards the spot from different directions.
“Seize this man!” he said to his companions; “he comes to observe us.”
All resistance was useless. And so, after having tried in vain to prove his innocence, the young man was surrounded and seized.
“March!” cried the man who had first met him. “You must talk with our chief.”
The leader of these brigands was a man about forty years of age, named Pietratesta. His great physical strength, his courage, and, more than all the rest, his energy, had made him a favorite among his companions, and given him authority over them. Famous among the mountains for his audacious crimes, condemned many times to an outlaw’s death, pursued in vain by the officers of the law, habituated for years to a life of adventure, pillage, and murder, he treated his prisoners without pity or mercy. All who were unable to purchase their liberty by paying whatever ransom he fixed, were put to death. He looked upon civilized people not as men, but as prizes.
As he saw the captive approach, he asked the usual question,—
“Who are you?”
“Salvator Rosa, a Neapolitan painter, now resident of Florence.”
“O, a painter! A poor prize, generally. But you are famous, I hear; the prince is your friend. Your pictures sell for very large prices. You must pay us ten thousand ducats.”
