"Do you see those woods and thickets?" said he to Orso, just as they
were parting. "A man who had met with a misfortune might live there
peacefully for ten years, and no gendarme or soldier would ever come to
look for him. The woods run into the Vizzavona forest, and anybody who
had friends at Bocognano or in the neighbourhood would want for nothing.
That's a good gun you have there. It must carry a long way. Blood of the
Madonna! What calibre! You might kill better game than boars with it!"
Orso answered, coldly, that his gun was of English make, and carried
"the lead" a long distance. The friends embraced, and took their
different ways.
Our travellers were drawing quite close to Pietranera, when, at the
entrance of a little gorge, through which they had to pass, they beheld
seven or eight men, armed with guns, some sitting on stones, others
lying on the grass, others standing up, and seemingly on the lookout.
Their horses were grazing a little way off. Colomba looked at them for
a moment, through a spy-glass which she took out of one of the large
leathern pockets all Corsicans wear when on a journey.
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