he poor little crow.

The crow, meantime, was trying to oust the notion that had alighted in
the brain of Fra Diavolo. "Of course I ought to ask the Confederates
higher prices as the risks increase," he said, then paused and shook his
head and wig and hat like a mournful pendulum. "But how can I? The South
hardly grows any more cotton. It cannot pay high, and----"

"And that's not my affair, but----" Again the business of thumb and
fingers--"but this is. Quick now!"

"Senor, I--Your Mercy knows that I always pay at--at the usual
place--near the forest."

[Illustration: "MURGUIA"
"He had evidently passed through salty spray, had braved the deep,
this shrinking old man in frayed black"]

"You mean that you won't pay here, because I am the one in danger here,
and not you? Bien, you want a money-getting man for your daughter, eh,
Don Anastasio, though you'll deny that you would give her to any man?
Bien, bonissimo, I am going to prove myself an eligible suitor. In
another minute Your Mercy will be frightened enough to pay. Attention
now!"

So saying he drew a reed whistle from his jacket. It was no thicker than
a pencil, and not half so long.

Murguia gripped his arm. "My daughter?" he cried. "It has been weeks
since I--but you must have seen her lately. Oh tell me, senor, there is
no bad news of her?" He had forgotten the threatened extortion. His
voice was open too, generous in its anxiety.

"News of her, yes. But it is vague news. There's a mystery about your
daughter, Don Anastasio."

But at this point Fra Diavolo dismissed mystery and daughter both with
an ugly grimace. Nor would he say another word, for all the father's
pleading. Instead, he remembered the little reed whistle in his hand,
and swung round to blow upon it, in spite of the palsied hand clutching
at his arm. But in turning, he became aware of the amused Parisienne
watching him. His jaw fell, whereat Don Anastasio's hand slipped from
his arm, and Don Anastasio himself began to slip away.

"Stop!" roared Fra Diavolo. "No, go ahead. Wait at the meson, though,
until I come. Wait until I give you your passports."

Then he turned again to stare at the girl who all unconsciously had
wrought the poor little crow's release.

CHAPTER III

THE VIOLENT END OF A TERRIBLE BANDIT

"Come listen to me, you gallants so free,
All you that love mirth for to hear,
And I will tell you of a bold outlaw."
--_R