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Randazzo's headache was well-nigh intolerable. He looked at it, and athis belt and revolver, at his eyes and hands. They told him that he wasathirst and he tried to drink the water that coursed through the darklittle valley. But it was bitter with some flavour of blood.

The men were beset on either side. The Black Hood paused and shot athousand yards, where a rent in the brush had given him a glimpse ofthe ford. The crack sounded as the bullet struck, and he took the menon either flank at a gallop and they crossed and re-crossed.

One by one the outlaws came through. They were led by two men. Onewas the Black Hood, the other was named Sculi, and the story they toldwas all the same. Tebaldo was their leader because they were Romansh,but they were all his men by force of arms. They had shared hishunger and camped in the mountains near the Pontaccia pass lastyear. Many of them loved him, and some had never seen a man of theBlack Hood before. Trained and hardened from his childhood, he knewevery rock and every herb. He knew where there were cornfields,and which side of the mountains they were on. He knew which side ofthe mountain he would feel for if he raised his hand, and always he kenthis way. This was his desert, and he was its prince. d2c66b5586