“Colomba,” said Orso, and his tone was severe, “I have asked you, over and over again, not to mention the Barricini and your groundless suspicions to me.  I shall certainly not make myself ridiculous by riding home with all these loafers behind me, and I am very angry with you for having sent for them without telling me.”

“Brother, you have forgotten the ways of your own country.  It is my business to protect you, when your own imprudence exposes you to danger.  It was my duty to do what I have done.”

Just at that moment the herdsmen, who had caught sight of them, hastened to their horses, and galloped down the hill to meet them.

“Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” shouted a brawny, white-bearded old fellow, wrapped, despite the heat, in a hooded cloak of Corsican cloth, thicker than the skins of his own goats.  “The image of his father, only taller and stronger!  What a splendid gun!  There’ll be talk about that gun, Ors’ Anton’!”

“Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” chorused the herdsmen.  “We were sure you’d come back, at last!”

“Ah!  Ors’ Anton’!” cried a tall fellow, with a skin tanned brick red.  “How happy your father would be, if he were here to welcome you!  The dear, good man!  You would have seen him now, if he would have listened to me—­if he would have let me settle Guidice’s business! . . .  But he wouldn’t listen to me, poor fellow!  He knows I was right, now!”

“Well, well!” said the old man.  “Guidice will lose nothing by waiting.”

“Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” And the reports of a dozen guns capped the plaudit.

Very much put out, Orso sat in the midst of the group of mounted men, all talking at once, and crowding round to shake hands with him.  For some time he could not make himself heard.  At last, with the air he put on when he used to reprimand the men of his company, or send one of them to the guard-room, he said: 

“I thank you, friends, for the affection you show for me, and for that which you felt for my father!  But I do not want advice from any of you, and you must not offer it.  I know my own duty.”

“He’s right!  He’s right!” cried the herdsmen.  “You know you may reckon on us!”

“Yes, I do reckon on you.  But at this moment I need no help, and no personal danger threatens me.  Now face round at once, and be off with you to your goats.  I know my way to Pietranera, and I want no guides.”

“Fear nothing, Ors’ Anton’,” said the old man.  “They would never dare to show their noses to-day.  The mouse runs back to its hole when the tom-cat comes out!”

“Tom-cat yourself, old gray-beard!” said Orso.  “What’s your name?”

“What! don’t you remember me, Ors’ Anton’?  I who have so often taken you up behind me on that biting mule of mine!  You don’t remember Polo Griffo?  I’m an honest fellow, though, and with the della Rebbia, body and soul.  Say but the word, and when that big gun of yours speaks, this old musket of mine, as old as its master, shall not be dumb.  Be sure of that, Ors’ Anton’!”