Dunstan was pointing to
what he saw; so Gilbert looked, too, and he perceived a gleaming, very
far off, that moved slowly on the white road beside the shining river.
"They are expecting a fight to-day," said Gilbert, "for they are in
mail and their mule-train is behind them."
"Shall we turn aside and ride up the mountain, to let them pass?" asked
Dunstan, who could fight like a wildcat, but had also the cat's
instinctive caution.
"It would be a pity not to see the fight," answered Gilbert, and he
began to ride forward down the descent.
The track was worn down to the depth of a man's height by the hoofs of
the beasts that had trodden it for ages; and in places it was very
narrow, so that two laden mules could hardly pass each other. Young
chestnut shoots of three or four years' growth sprang up in thick green
masses from the top of the bank on each side, and now and then the
branches of nut trees almost joined their broad leaves across the way,
making a deep shade that was cool and smelt of fresh mould and green
things. A little way down the hill a spring of water trickled into a
little pool hollowed out by travellers, and the water overflowed and
made thick black mud of the earth churned up with last year's dead
leaves.
Gilbert let his horse stop to drink, and his men waited in single file
to take their turn.
"Psst!" The peculiar hiss which Italians make to attract attention came
sharp and distinct from the low growth of the chestnut shoots.
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