“Very well, friend, take your way,” said Ninco Nanco, blandly, as before. “And you, Signor Postiglione, what do you say?”
“That I am unprejudiced; but it depends on the offer you can make me, most worthy signori,” answered the postillion.
“You see that grave; one of you two will fill it before ten minutes are over,” said the bandit, with terrible calmness.
“Oh, oh! then I will join you or do anything you wish, most worthy and honourable gentlemen,” exclaimed the poor fellow, trembling in every limb.
“You have selected wisely, friend,” said the bandit, with an unpleasant smile; “but you will understand that we require proof of your sincerity; vows are, like strings of macaroni, easily broken. You will have the goodness to take this pistol, and shoot yonder contumacious slave of the steward of the Prince Montefalcone. I wish that I could have given you the satisfaction of shooting the Prince himself.”
The postillion took the pistol which the brigand handed to him, but hesitated to lift it towards the head of the victim.
“Come, come! we are transacting business,” cried the brigand, with a terrible frown. “If you are in earnest, fire; if not, we will give him his choice of shooting you.”
The servant, who had not seemed till this moment to understand the cruel fate prepared for him, turned an imploring glance at the brigands surrounding him; but no expression of commiseration could he discover in the countenances of any of them. He was in the act of lifting up his hands towards the blue sky above his head, when the report of a pistol was heard, and he fell flat on his face to the ground.
Instantly the outer clothing was stripped off, the pockets rifled, and the yet warm corpse was thrown into the grave and covered up.
“Put on this,” said the brigand, handing the murdered man’s jacket to the postillion; “you’ve made a good beginning, and, as your life is now not worth a half carline if you were to appear in Naples, when you have taken the oath you may consider yourself one of us; but you’ll remember, that if you ever turn traitor, though you were to fly to the centre of the Vatican, or to cling to the altar of Saint Peter’s, you would not be safe from our vengeance. Now, onward, comrades!”