One
object, however, engrossed his attention. It was the beautiful Venetian
lady in the hands of two of the robbers, who, during the confusion of
the fight, carried her shrieking up the mountains. He saw her dress
gleaming among the bushes, and he sprang up the rocks to intercept the
robbers as they bore off their prey. The ruggedness of the steep and
the entanglements of the bushes, delayed and impeded him. He lost sight
of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, which grew fainter and
fainter. They were off to the left, while the report of muskets showed
that the battle was raging to the right.
At length he came upon what appeared to be a rugged footpath, faintly
worn in a gully of the rock, and beheld the ruffians at some distance
hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them hearing his approach let
go his prey, advanced towards him, and levelling the carbine which had
been slung on his back, fired. The ball whizzed through the
Englishman's hat, and carried with it some of his hair. He returned the
fire with one of his pistols, and the robber fell. The other brigand
now dropped the lady, and drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired on
his adversary with deliberate aim; the ball passed between his left arm
and his side, slightly wounding the arm. The Englishman advanced and
discharged his remaining pistol, which wounded the robber, but not
severely. The brigand drew a stiletto, and rushed upon his adversary,
who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight wound, and defending
himself with his pistol, which had a spring bayonet.
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