One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the newspapers said, “plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of consternation,” a young man with his left arm in a sling¹, rode out of Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated² for its spring, which in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with delicious water. He was accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably³ handsome, mounted on a small black horse, the strength and shape of which would have attracted the admiration⁴ of a connoisseur⁵, although, by some strange accident, one of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching the village, the girl sprang nimbly to the ground, and, having helped her comrade to dismount, she unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets strapped⁶ to his saddle-bow. The horses were left in charge of a peasant. The girl, laden⁷ with the wallets, which she had concealed⁸ under her mezzaro, and the young man, carrying a double-barrelled gun, took their way toward the mountain, along a very steep path that did not appear to lead to any dwelling⁹. When they had climbed to one of the lower ridges¹⁰ of the Monte Querico, they halted, and sat down on the grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for they kept perpetually looking toward the mountain, and the young lady often consulted a pretty gold watch—as much, it may be, for the pleasure of admiring what appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as in order to know whether the hour appointed for some meeting or other had come. They had not long to wait. A dog ran out of the maquis, and when the girl called out “Brusco!” it approached at once, and fawned¹¹ upon them. Presently two bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, cartridge¹²-belts round their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. Their torn and patched garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which were brilliantly polished, and came from a famous Continental¹³ factory. In spite of the apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in this scene greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship.  
“Well, Ors’ Anton’,” said the elder bandit to the young man, “so your business is settled—the indictment¹⁴ against you has fallen through? I congratulate you. I’m sorry the lawyer has left the island. I’d like to see his rage. And how’s your arm?”
 
“They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight,” said the young man. “Brando, my good friend, I’m going to Italy to-morrow—I wanted to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That’s why I asked you to come here.”
 
“You’re in a fine hurry,” said Brandolaccio. “Only acquitted¹⁵ yesterday, and you’re off to-morrow.”
 
“Business must be attended to,” said the young lady merrily. “Gentlemen, I’ve brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don’t you forget my friend Brusco.”
 
“You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he’s a grateful dog. You shall see. Here, Brusco,” and he held out his gun horizontally, “jump for the Barricini!”
 
The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master.
 
“Jump for the della Rebbia!” And he leaped two feet higher than he need have done.
 
“Look here, my friends,” said Orso, “you’re plying¹⁶ a bad trade; and even if you don’t end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you can look for is to die in the maquis by some gendarme’s bullet.”
 
[*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place.
 
“Well, well,” said Castriconi, “that’s no more than death, anyhow; and it’s better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your heirs snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are accustomed to the open air like us, there’s nothing so good as to die ‘in your shoes,’ as the village folk say.”
 
“I should like to see you get out of this country,” said Orso, “and lead a quieter life. For instance, why shouldn’t you settle in Sardinia, as several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for you.”
 
“In Sardinia!” cried Brandolaccio. “Istos Sardos! Devil take them and their lingo¹⁷! We couldn’t live in such bad company.”
 
“Sardinia’s a country without resources,” added the theologian. “For my part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their bandits. That’s a

Join or Log In! You need to log in to continue reading

Create a new account   I have a account already

	Create an New Account
Email:  (User Name)
Password:	Letters and numbers only. 6-20 characters.
Retype Password:
Screen Name:	Letters and numbers only. 6-50 Characters.
Confirmation Code:	(Please type in the characters in the green image.)

	Login into Your Account
Email:
Password:
	Remember me on this computer.