hile his left arm began to hurt him
horribly, and felt as if it were being dragged down by a huge weight.

What had become of his adversaries? He could not understand. If they had
taken to flight, if they had been wounded, he would certainly have heard
some noise, some stir among the leaves. Were they dead, then? Or, what
was far more likely, were they not waiting behind their wall for a
chance of shooting at him again. In his uncertainty, and feeling his
strength fast failing him, he knelt down on his right knee, rested
his wounded arm upon the other, and took advantage of a branch that
protruded from the trunk of the burned tree to support his gun. With his
finger on the trigger, his eye fixed on the wall, and his ear strained
to catch the slightest sound, he knelt there, motionless, for several
minutes, which seemed to him a century. At last, behind him, in the far
distance, he heard a faint shout, and very soon a dog flew like an arrow
down the slope, and stopped short, close to him, wagging its tail.
It was Brusco, the comrade and follower of the bandits--the herald,
doubtless, of his master's approach. Never was any honest man more
impatiently awaited. With his muzzle in the air, and turned toward the
nearest fence, the dog sniffed anxiously. Suddenly he gave vent to a low
growl, sprang at a bound over the wall, and almost instantly reappeared
upon its crest, whence he gazed steadily at Orso with eyes that spoke
surprise as clearly as a dog's may do it. Then he sniffed again, this
time toward the other inclosure, the wall of which he also crossed.
Within a second he was back on the top of that, with the same air of
astonishment and alarm, and straightway he bounded into the thicket with
his tail between his legs, still gazing at Orso, and retiring from him
slowly, and sideways, until he had put some distance between them. Then
off he started again, tearing up the slope almost as fast as he had
come down it, to meet a man, who, in spite of its steepness, was rapidly
descending.

"Help, Brando!" shouted Orso, as soon as he thought he was within
hearing.

"Hallo! Ors' Anton'! are you wounded?" inquired Brandolaccio, as he ran
up panting. "Is it in your body or your limbs?"

"In the arm."

"The arm--oh, that's nothing! And the other fellow?"

"I think I hit him."

Brandolaccio ran after the dog to the nearest field and leaned over to
look at the other side of the wall, then pulling off his cap--

"Signor Orl