The daily morning journal and courier., 1894-07-28


 look of hate in the glaring face Of the giant who had pulled him down; saw that his disengaged hand was strug- gling for knife. and the mortified pop- ulace which was but then convulsed with laughter. saw the Hash of Batis- ta's stiletto as he disappeared within the sea Of heads.
 Then there was a moment of awful silence at the fiesta of Lucciana. A lH- tie sinuous crevice seemed to part in the throng like a curling crack in the lava on Etna's side. From its mouth a single human ran: ran with the tains: for murder. though unpremedi- tated and perhaps defensible. will in Corsica in second of time transform the most idolized of its people to a hunted bandit of the caves and glens,
 The mountain gendarmes were in- stantly In pursuit. Walls of humans blocked their movements. Women and children suffered themselves to be rid den over. to impede their progress. Youths of Batista's stature form and attire were sent skulking In every di- . and so quick and eager are the Corsi- cans to assist him who comes. by fault or misfortune. under the laws ban. that the real culprit had not run the length of the village toward the moun- tains, without having had flung into his trembling hands bread from this one, strips of dried goats flesh from that one, and purses, knives and double gun with belt and cartridges from others.
 But when the people who had throng- len and fled. began to disperse there lay giant Fabiano as stark as a great prostrate statue cast in Greek bronze. Batistas stiletto had been sure, and there was scarcely a drop of blood up- on the dead goatherd to sicken those who looked.
 For time none touched him; for the folk of Lucciana were thinking of the vendetta which in all honor must fol- low, and wondering who would first fall at the flash of Borgo gun or the plunge of Borgo knife.
 Finally the podesta came, summon ing the bravest and safest of men. They bore the body to the edge of Bor- go village; sent for the cure; truth fully told the priest the manner of the goatherd's death, and offered repara- tion in gold to his family, hoping to mitigate the yendetta's curse.
 The cure called the men. of Borgo about him and related all. Miracle in Corsica! There was no savage mur- mur for the immemorial blood re- venge."
 "Fabiano has no friend in Borgo. Fabiano has no living kin-none but his witoh-like daughter, Agnese, beau- tiful but wild as mountain sheep;" they said.
 So together they took the body to the winter hut, where Agnese sat beside a black, tower-like structure of stone, standing upon black crag above the village, where the goats were herded in readiness for the summer journey to the heights of Monte Rotondo.
 "Dio mic" said the maiden with dry and burning eyes. T knew he would not return from the fiesta. The stregha .(witch) read 1t to me from the scapula; from the left shoulder blade of a dead monk; and this does not lie.. bio mic! am alone"
 The superstitious men of Lucciana and Borgo took off their baretti and crossed themselves, with uncovered heads. while the cure frowned upon them; but he turned to the girl and said kindly enough:
 After the grido (the house lamenta- tions) Fabiano shall have Christian burial"
 She seemed not to hear him but said:
 Picture to me his slayer"
 "An-an uncouth wanderer," cun- ningly answered one from Lucciana; "a stroller of no station, whom Fabiano foully insulted and attempted to harm"
 That is not enough. He killed my father. How did he look? What is his the color of his eyes? Curse him! Let me see him in picture, so shall know him in the mountains where I shall find and kill him?'
 She said this wildly, flercely, but without tears or sobs.
 "Yes, yes;" eloquently persisted the man from Lucciana, as his compan- ions dolerously rolled their eyes, and the cure turned thoughtfully away to the village. "He is little and dark and speaks hoarsely and uncouthly. He wears cubes of gold in his ears and walks widely, like the tailors of Bastia. He-
 That is enough! He shall not return from Monte Rotondo. Lay Fabiano upon the tola (the death table and leave me alone. Were I Fabianos brother or Fabiano's son, the towards of Borgo should revenge themselves up- on the towards of Lucoiana, or would quickly bring the corteo Che funeral escorD to the doors of Borgo. But they have not left in them the blood of my Diterico and ottone!'
 As she spoke these names, two of her scraggy ill-fed goats ran to her. She threw her arms around their necks and kissed them impetuously as though they were human comforters and alone knew her utter desolation and misery.
 Then as the giant dead had already been stretched upon the creaking tola, which nigh fell beneath its weight, she imperiously waved them all begone, and as they filed down the dark pathway with many shoulder shruggings and gestures of relief, the orphaned herd girl covered the body with shaggy goat skins and then sat alone with the dead. until the shadows of the night came behind the mountains into the peaceful valley; never moving from the still fnrn saya tn now and then axa