into the town to renew your stock of ammunition.
When I was in Corsica in 18—Mateo Falcone's house was half a league from this mâquis. He was a comparatively rich man for that country, living handsomely, that is to say, without doing anything, from the produce of his herds, which the shepherds, a sort of nomadic people, led to pasture here and there over the mountains. When I saw him, two years after the event that I am about to tell, he seemed about fifty years of age at the most. Imagine a small, but robust man, with jet-black, curly hair, an aquiline nose, thin lips, large and piercing eyes, and a deeply tanned complexion. His skill in shooting passed for extraordinary, even in his country, where there are so many crack shots. For example, Mateo would never fire on a sheep with swanshot, but, at one hundred and twenty paces, he would strike it with a bullet in its head or shoulders as he chose. He could use his gun at night as easily as by day, and I was told the following example of his adroitness, which will seem almost incredible to those who have not travelled in Corsica. A lighted candle was placed behind a transparent piece of paper, as large as a plate, at eighty paces off. He put himself into position, then the candle was extinguished, and in a minute's time, in complete darkness, he shot and pierced the paper three times out of four.
With this conspicuous talent Mateo Falcone had earned a great reputation. He was said to be a loyal friend, but a dangerous enemy; in other respects he was obliging and gave alms, and he lived at peace with everybody in the district of Porto-Vecchio. But it is told of him that when at Corte, where he had found his wife, he had very quickly freed himself of a rival reputed to be equally formidable in love as in war; at any rate, people attributed to Mateo a certain gunshot which surprised his rival while in the act of shaving before a small mirror hung in his window. After the affair had been hushed up Mateo married. His wife Giuseppa at first presented him with three daughters, which enraged him, but finally a son came whom he named Fortunato; he was the hope of the family, the inheritor of its name. The girls were well married; their father could reckon in case of need upon the poniards and rifles of his sons-in-law. The son was only ten years old, but he had already shown signs of a promising disposition.
One autumn day Mateo and his wife set out early to visit one of their flocks in a clearing of the mâquis. Little Fortunato wanted to go with them, but the clearing was too far off; besides, it was necessary that someone should stay and mind the house; so his father refused. We shall soon see that he had occasion to repent of this.
He had been gone several hours and little Fortunato was quietly lying out in the sunshine, looking at the blue mountains, and thinking that on the following Sunday he would be going to town to have dinner at his uncle's, the corporal,[1] when his meditations were suddenly interrupted by the firing of a gun. He got up and turned towards that side of the plain from which the sound had proceeded. Other shots followed, fired at irregular intervals, and each time they came nearer and nearer until he saw a man on the path which led from the plain to Mateo's house. He wore a pointed cap like a mountaineer, he was bearded, and clothed in rags, and he dragged himself along with difficulty, leaning on his gun. He had just received a gunshot in the thigh.
This man was a bandit (Corsican for one who is proscribed) who, having set out at night to get some powder from the town, had fallen on the way into an ambush of Corsican soldiers.[2] After a vigorous defence he had succeeded in escaping, but they gave chase hotly, firing at him from rock to rock. He was only a little in advance of the soldiers, and his wound made it out of the question for him to reach the mâquis before being overtaken.
He came up to Fortunato and said—
"Are you the son of Mateo Falcone?"
"Yes."
"I am Gianetto Sanpiero. I am pursued by the yellow-collars.[3] Hide me, for I cannot go any further."
"But what will my father say if I hide you without his permission?"
"He will say that you did right."
"How do you know?"
"Hide me quickly; they are coming."
"Wait till my father returns."
"Good Lord! how can I wait? They will be here in five minutes. Come, hide me, or I will kill you."
Fortunato replied with the utmost coolness—
"Your gun is unloaded, and there are no more cartridges in your carchera."[4]
"I have my stiletto."
"But could you run as fast as I can?"
With a bound he put himself out of reach.
"You are no son of Mateo Falcone! Will you let me be taken in front of his house?"
The child seemed moved.
"What will you give me if I hide you?" he said, drawing nearer.
The bandit felt in the leather pocket that hung from his side and took out a five-franc piece, which he had put aside, no doubt, for powder. Fortunato smiled at the sight of the piece of silver, and, seizing hold of it, he said to Gianetto—
"Don't be afraid."
He quickly made a large hole in a haystack which stood close by the house. Gianetto crouched down in it, and the child covered him up so as to leave a little breathing space, and yet in such a way as to make it impossible for anyone to suspect that the hay concealed a man. He acted, further, with the ingenious cunning of the savage. He fetched a cat and her kittens and put them on the top of the haystack to make believe that it had not been touched for a long time. Then he carefully covered over with dust the bloodstains which he had noticed on the path near the house, and, this done, he lay down again in the sun with the utmost sangfroid.
Some minutes later six men with brown uniform with yellow collars, commanded by an adjutant, stood before Mateo's door. This adjutant was a distant relative of the Falcones. (It is said that further degrees of relationship are recognised in Corsica than anywhere else.) His name was Tiodoro Gamba; he was an energetic man, greatly feared by the banditti, and had already hunted out many of them.
"Good day, youngster," he said, coming up to Fortunato. "How you have grown! Did you see a man pass just now?"
"Oh, I am not yet so tall as you, cousin," the child replied, with a foolish look.
"You soon will be. But, tell me, have you not seen a man pass by?"
"Have I seen a man pass by?"
"Yes, a man with a pointed black velvet cap and a waistcoat embroidered in red and yellow."
"A man with a pointed cap and a waistcoat embroidered in scarlet and yellow?"
"Yes; answer sharply and don't repeat my questions."
"The priest passed our door this morning on his horse Piero. He asked me how papa was, and I replied——"
"You are making game of me, you rascal. Tell me at once which way Gianetto went, for it is he we are after; I am certain he took this path."
"How do you know that?"
"How do I know that? I know you have seen him."
"How can one see passers-by when one is asleep?"
"You were not asleep, you little demon: the gunshots would wake you."
"You think, then, cousin, that your guns make noise enough? My father's rifle makes much more noise."
"May the devil take you, you young scamp. I am absolutely certain you have seen Gianetto. Perhaps you have even hidden him. Here, you fellows, go into the house, and see if our man is not there. He could only walk on one foot, and he has too much common sense, the villain, to have tried to reach the mâquis limping. Besides, the traces of blood stop here."
"Whatever