Fra Diavolo's peaked beaver, his jacket, his breeches, his high pommeled saddle, his great box stirrups, the carabine case strapped behind, all be-scrolled with silver, danced hazily to the magic of rays slanting down from the lofty Sierra line. Like himself, his horse was a thing of spirited flesh, for glorious display. The glossy mane flowed luxuriantly. The tail curved to the ground. A mountain lion's skin covered his flanks. He was large and sleek and black, with the metal and pride of an English strain. He was a carved war-charger. The man astride was rigid, stately. Man and horse had a heroic statue's promise of instant, furious life.
"Oh, la beauté d'un homme!" cried Jacqueline, perceiving the majestic outline silhouetted against the rocks. "Why, why--it's Fra Diavolo!"
"It--it is!" confessed Murguía. There was dread, not surprise, in his exclamation. The waiting horseman, and a lonely hut there behind him--none other than a brigand "toll-station"--these were but too significant of an old and hated rendezvous. Don Anastasio got to his feet and nervously hurried his caravan back a short distance. Then he ran ahead again and overtook the two Frenchwomen. "Señoritas, wait! Neither of you need go. But I will--I must, but I can go alone, while you----"
"Back, señorita, back, before he sees you!"
Jacqueline looked at the imploring eyes, at the palsied hand on her bridle. "Berthe," she said, "here's your little monsieur getting constitutional again."
"Parbleu!" said the girl, and lashed her mustang.
"Dios, Dios," gasped the little monsieur, hurrying after them, "when Maximiliano hears of this----"
"You should see Maximilian when he is angry," Jacqueline called over her shoulder. "It is very droll."
Din Driscoll had vaulted to the ground in the instant of halting. Immediately he led his horse behind the solitary hut, which was a _jacal_ of bamboo and thatch built under the cliff, and left him there. Demijohn was a seasoned campaigner, and he would not move until his trooper came for him. When Driscoll emerged again, his coat was over his left arm, and the pockets were bulging. Fra Diavolo had already saluted him, but gazed down the trail at the two women approaching.
"How are you, captain?" Driscoll began cordially.