or my shelter, gained it, crawled under
its lee, and, peering over, had whipped my gun to my shoulder and
very nearly pulled the trigger--was, in fact, looking along the
sight--when I found that I was aiming at a man; and not only that,
but at Billy Priske!

I believe, on my faith that thenceforward he owed his life to the
shape of his legs--so unlike a deer's.

He was picking his way across the dry bed of a torrent in the dip not
fifty yards below us, leaping from slab to slab of outcropping
granite as a man crosses a brook by stepping-stones; and upon a slab
midway he halted, drew off his hat, extracted a handkerchief, and
stood polishing his bald head while he took stock of the climb before
him.

"Billy! Billy Priske!"

He tilted his head still higher, towards the ridge and the rock on
which I stood against his skyline, frantically waving.

"HOO-ROAR!"

"And to think, lad," he panted, ten minutes later, as he stretched
himself on the heath beside me--"to think of your mistaking me for a
deer!"

"Did I say so, Billy? Then I lied. It was for a _mufro_ I took you.
Marc'antonio here had as good as promised me one."

His beaming smile changed on the instant to a look of extreme
gravity.

"See you, lad," he said, "have you ever come across one of these here
wild sheep?"

"Not yet."

"I thought not. Well, I have; and I advise you not to talk
irreligious about 'em."

"I will talk about nothing," said I, "until you tell me how my father
is, and of all your adventures."

"He's well, lad--hearty, and well, and thriving. And he sends you
his love, and a paper for your friend here. 'Tis from the Princess;
and the upshot is, you're released from your word and free to come
back with me."

Marc'antonio, proud of an opportunity to display his scholarship,
broke the seal and read the letter with a magisterial frown, which
changed, however, to a pleasant, friendly smile as he handed it
across to me.

"Your captivity is at an end, cavalier. You said well, after all,
that your patience would win the day."

"_My_ patience, Marc'antonio? What, then, of yours?"

The tears sprang suddenly to his eyes, good fellow that he was, and
now my good friend. I stretched out a hand, and he grasped and held
it for a moment between his twain. We used no more words.

"So my father is with the Princess?" I asked, turning on Billy, who
stared--and excusably--at this evidence of our emotion.

"No, he bain't," said Bill