"Come on, I tell you!" thundered Muscari from above.
The Reverend Father Brown and the celebrated Signor Muscari I shall release tomorrow at dawn and escort to my outposts.
He had held back in a hang-dog style when his son and Muscari had made a bold movement to break out of the brigand trap.
All the time that he had been speaking, the dubious-looking men with carbines and dirty slouch hats had been gathering silently in such preponderating numbers that even Muscari was compelled to recognize his sally with the sword as hopeless.
"I cannot imagine," said Muscari, rubbing up his black hair for once with an unaffected gesture.
As the little priest's words lengthened and lost themselves in a dull and dreamy sincerity, Muscari, whose animal senses were alert and impatient, heard a new noise in the mountains.
"A rescue!" cried Muscari, springing to his feet and waving his hat; "the gendarmes are on them!
Muscari meanwhile, without waiting for support, had crested the bank up to the road, and struck the brigand king heavily on the shoulder, causing him to stagger and swing round.
"Signor Muscari," said the cleric, "in this queer crisis personalities may be pardoned.
"Nothing is coming up the road," argued Muscari, "except the rescue."
Again to Muscari's artistic eye it seemed scarcely like the capture of a great outlaw at bay.
Muscari was leading away the unhappy daughter, who held hard to him, as she did for many a year after.