“I know what I will do,” I said to myself.  “I’ll make friends with the chief himself.  That’s the best plan.  If he is responsive, my family will be spared the necessity of receiving one of my ears by mail with a delicate request for $20,000 ransom, accompanied by a P. S. enclosing the other ear to emphasize the importance of the complication.”

By way of diversion, let me say here that, while slicing off the victim’s ear is a staple situation among novelists who write of bandits, in all my experience with bandits—­and I have known a thousand, most of ’em in Wall Street—­I have never known it done, and I challenge those who write of South European highway-robbers to produce any evidence to prove that the habit is prevalent.  The idea is, on the face of it, invalid.  The ears of mankind, despite certain differences which are acknowledged, are, after all, very much alike.  The point that differentiates one ear from another is the angle at which it is set from the head.  The angle, according to the most scientific students of the organ of hearing, is the basis of the estimate of the individual.  Therefore, to convince the wealthy persons at home that large sums of money are expected of them to preserve the life of the father of the family, the truly expert bandit must send something besides the ear itself, which, when cut off, has no angle whatsoever.  If I, who am no bandit, and who have not studied the art of the banditti, may make a suggestion which may prove valuable to the highwaymen of Italy and Greece, the only sure method of identifying the individual lies in the cutting off of the head of the victim, by which means alone the identity of the person to be ransomed may be settled beyond all question.  As one who has suffered, I will say that I would not send a check for $20,000 to a bandit on the testimony of one ear any more than I would lend a man ten dollars on his own representation as to the meals he had not had, the drinks he wanted, or the date upon which he would pay it back.

All these ideas flashed across my mind as I lay there worn in spirit and chilled to the bone.  At last, however, after a considerable effort, I gathered myself together and resolved to investigate.  I rose up, stood uncertainly on my feet, and was about to make my way towards the sources of the unexpected light, when a dark figure rushed past me.  I tried to speak to it.

“Hello, there!” said I, hoping to gain its attention and ask its advice, since it came into the cavern in that breezy fashion which betokens familiarity with surroundings.  The being, whatever it really was, and I was soon to find this out, turned a scornful and really majestic face upon me, as much as to say, “Who are you that should thus address a god?” The rushing thing wore a crown and flowing robes.  Likewise it had a gray beard and an air of power which made me, a mere mortal, seem weak even in my own estimation.  Furthermore, there was a divine atmosphere following in his wake.  It suggested the most brilliant of brilliantine.