Beyond that lay Spain. Once across the border, I
might be detained, if no worse happened to me, as a prisoner of
war; for we were then at war with Spain on the Italian side. Or
I might be handed over to one of the savage bands, half
smugglers, half brigands, that held the passes; or be delivered,
worse fate of all, into the power of the French exiles, of whom
some would be likely to recognise me and cut my throat.
'It is a long way into Spain,' I muttered, watching in a kind of
fascination Clon handling his pistols.
'I think you will find the other road longer still,' the landlord
answered grimly. 'But choose, and be quick about it.'
They were three to one, and they had firearms. In effect I had
no choice.
'Well, if I must I must?' I cried, making up my mind with
seeming recklessness. 'VOGUE LA GALERE! Spain be it. It will
not be the first time I have heard the dons talk.'
The men nodded, as much as to say that they had known what the
end would be; the landlord released my rein; and in a trice we
were riding down the narrow track, with our faces set towards the
mountains.
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