“We’ll see what persuasions our brave chief, Giuseppe Greco, can employ,” exclaimed one of the band.
“He our chief? What do you mean, Oca? Our chief is Ninco Nanco, and no one else,” cried another.
“Then he should show himself,—he may be dead, or captured, for what we know,” said a third.
“We want a clever leader, like Greco, who can at will increase the number of the band, and lay the whole country under contribution.”
“Who will bring traitors among us, and make enemies on every side,” muttered an old brigand, who had followed the craft from his earliest days.
From all he heard ’Renzo knew that there was a division in the camp of the brigands, and soon ascertained that Greco was plotting to depose his absent chief. This was satisfactory, as he hoped it might be the means of breaking up the confederacy. It did not make him the less anxious to effect his escape. In vain he watched for an opportunity all night.
The next day the band moved some leagues farther to the east. He found himself strictly guarded, but not otherwise ill-treated; while his companions used every means to impress him with the pleasures and advantages of the life they led.
“I confess I do not perceive them,” he answered. “You have to live up in the mountains; often like wild beasts, hunted from spot to spot. Your fare is coarse, and often scanty. Every day you run a chance of being shot. If taken, you will be hung, or sent to the galleys for life; and, without scruple, you kill your fellow-creatures, if they attempt to defend their property.”
“Make the fellow hold his tongue,” cried a voice near them; it was that of Greco, who had approached unperceived. “We must induce you to change your mind, friend ’Renzo,” he remarked. “I want a sturdy fellow like you as a lieutenant.”
Greco was doing his utmost to increase the number of the band, hoping thus to overpower the adherents of Ninco Nanco. Small parties were constantly sent out, therefore, who returned either with prisoners, or recruits as they were called, or some booty and provisions. What was poor ’Renzo’s grief and horror when, one day, he saw Marco Maffei, the father of his dear Chiarina, brought in a prisoner, mounted on his mule! He looked pale and alarmed. Greco seemed highly satisfied at seeing him.