At that moment a report from another quarter was beard—a bullet whistled through the air, and Greco fell, shot through the head.
“Fly, father, fly!” cried ’Renzo, springing towards Marco, and urging on his mule.
The unexpected appearance of Ninco Nanco himself, who leaped down from the rocks among them with three well-armed followers, drew off the attention of the brigands from ’Renzo’s proceedings. Those who had openly sided with Greco grasped their weapons, expecting to have to fight for their lives.
“Nonsense! No fighting among friends,” said Ninco Nanco. “I heard of all that fellow was doing, and have settled scores with him pretty sharply. In future you’ll all follow my orders.”
Loud vivas greeted this address, and it was not for some minutes that the brigands discovered that their prisoners had fled. Some proposed following them.
“No, no! To the old man I owe a debt; it were an ill way of paying it if I slew him,” exclaimed Ninco Nanco. “Though I love not the other, I can afford to be generous, and so let him go also. I can trust them. They dare not betray us.”
This act of the chiefs was looked upon as the very acme of heroic generosity; and certainly nothing more worthy of praise has been recorded of Ninco Nanco, the Brigand.
Having inspired the inhabitants of the surrounding districts with a wholesome terror of his name, Ninco Nanco soon discovered that the easiest way of collecting his revenue was to write a letter to any wealthy proprietor he might fix on, demanding the sum required, or horses, or provisions, as the case might be; and he seldom, fails to obtain what he demands.
Marco and ’Renzo reached home safely, when Chiarina, who had been almost heart-broken at their absence, in the exuberance of her joy at their return, threw herself into the arms of her father, and then into those of ’Renzo, quite forgetting all rules of propriety.
