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.

Gilbert turned his head quickly in the direction of the sound. A
swarthy face appeared, framed in a close leathern cap on which small
rings of rusty iron were sewn strongly, but not very regularly. Then a
long left arm, clad in the same sort of mail, pushed the lower boughs
aside and made a gesture in the direction whence Gilbert had come,
which was meant to warn him back--a gesture of the flat hand, held
across the breast with thumb hidden, just moving a little up and down.

"Why should I go back?" asked Gilbert, in his natural voice.