No second bidding did they need.  In the twinkling of an eye they were in the saddle, and one of them had caught the bridle of the leading mule of the litter.  Giacopo called to me to lead the way with him, with no more ceremony than if I had been one of themselves.  But I made no ado.  A chase is an interesting business, whatever your point of view, and if a greater safety lies with the hunter, there is a keener excitement with the hunted.

Down that steep and slippery hillside we blundered, making for Cagli at a pace in which there lay a myriad-fold more danger than could menace us from any party of pursuers.  But fear was spur and whip to the unreasoning minds of those poltroons, and so from the danger behind us we fled, and courted a more deadly and certain peril in the fleeing.  At first I sought to remonstrate with Giacopo; but he was deaf to the wisdom that I spoke.  He turned upon me a face which terror had rendered whiter than its natural habit, white as the egg of a duck, with a hint of blue or green behind it.  I had, besides, an ugly impression of teeth and eyeballs.

“Death is behind us, sir,” he snarled.  “Let us get on.”

“Death is more assuredly before you,” I answered grimly.  “If you will court it, go your way.  As for me, I am over-young to break my neck and be left on the mountain-side to fatten crows.  I shall follow at my leisure.”

“Gesu!” he cried, through chattering teeth.  “Are you a coward, then?”

The taunt would have angered me had his condition been other than it was; but coming from one so possessed of the devil of terror, it did no more than provoke my mirth.

“Come on, then, valiant runagate,” I laughed at him.

And on we went, our horses now plunging, now sliding down yard upon yard of moving snow, snorting and trembling, more reasoning far than these rational animals that bestrode them.  Twice did it chance that a man was flung from his saddle, yet I know not what prayers Madonna may have been uttering in her litter, to obtain for us the miracle of reaching the plain with never so much as a broken bone.

Thus far had we come, but no farther, it seemed, was it possible to go.  The horses, which by dint of slipping and sliding had encompassed the descent at a good pace, were so winded that we could get no more than an amble out of them, saving mine, which was tolerably fresh.

At this a new terror assailed the timorous Giacopo.  His head was ever turned to look behind—­unfailing index of a frightened spirit; his eyes were ever on the crest of the hills, expecting at every moment to behold the flash of the pursuers’ steel.  The end soon followed.  He drew rein and called a halt, sullenly sitting his horse like a man deprived of wit—­ which is to pay him the compliment of supposing that he ever had wit to be deprived of.

Instantly the curtain-rings rasped, and Madonna Paola’s head appeared, her voice inquiring the reason of this fresh delay.