The men who guarded the priest and Ethel were growing more and more excited every moment, and were impatient at their enforced inaction.

“They must be soldiers,” said one.

“Of course,” said another.

“They fight well.”

“Ay; better than the last time.”

“How did they learn to fight so well under cover?”

“They’ve improved.  The last time we met them we shot them like sheep, and drove them back in five minutes.”

“They’ve got a leader who understands fighting in the woods.  He keeps them under cover.”

“Who is he?”

“Diavolo! who knows?  They get new captains every day.”

“Was there not a famous American Indian—­”

“True.  I heard of him.  An Indian warrior from the American forests.  Guiseppe saw him when he was at Rome.”

“Bah!—­you all saw him.”

“Where?”

“On the road.”

“We didn’t.”

“You did.  He was the Zouave who fled to the woods first.”

“He?”

“Yes.”

“Diavolo!”

These words were exchanged between them as they looked at the fighting.  But suddenly there came rapid flashes and rolling volleys beyond the fires that lay before them, and the movement of the flashes showed that a rush had been made toward the lake.  Wild yells arose, then fierce returning fires, and these showed that the brigands were being driven back.

The guards could endure this no longer.

“They are beating us,” cried one of the men, with a curse.  “We must go and fight.”

“What shall we do with these prisoners?”

“Tie them and leave them.”

“Have you a rope?”

“No.  There is one by the grave.”

“Let’s take the prisoners there and bind them.”

This proposition was accepted; and, seizing the priest and Ethel, the four men hurried them back to the grave.  The square hole lay there just beside them, with the earth by its side.  Ethel tried to see into it, but was not near enough to do so.  One of the men found the rope, and began in great haste to bind the arms of the priest behind him.  Another began to bind Ethel in the same way.

But now there came loud cries, and the rush of men near them.  A loud, stern voice was encouraging the men.

“On! on!” he cried.  “Follow me!  We’ll drive them back!”

Saying this, a man hurried on, followed by a score of brigands.

It was Girasole.

He had been guarding the woods at this side when he had seen the rush that had been made farther up.  He had seen his men driven in, and was now hurrying up to the place to retrieve the battle.  As he was running on he came up to the party at the grave.

He stopped.

“What’s this?” he cried.

“The prisoners—­we were securing them.”