"
"Tush! I would not trust his valuable life to you. Get up!" he commanded,
and Oscar jerked Zmai to his feet.
"You deserve nothing at my hands, but I need a discreet messenger, and
you shall not die to-night, as my worthy adjutant recommends. To-morrow
night, however, or the following night--or any other old night, as we say
in America--if you show yourself in these hills, my chief of staff shall
have his way with you--buzzard meat!"
"The orders are understood," said Oscar, thrusting the revolver into the
giant's ribs.
"Now, Zmai, blacksmith of Toplica, and assassin at large, here is a
letter for Monsieur Chauvenet. It is still early. When you have delivered
it, bring me back the envelope with Monsieur's receipt written right
here, under the seal. Do you understand?"
It had begun to dawn upon Zmai that his life was not in immediate danger,
and the light of intelligence kindled again in his strange little eyes.
Lest he might not fully grasp the errand with which Armitage intrusted
him, Oscar repeated what Armitage had said in somewhat coarser terms.
Again through the moonlight strode the three--out of Armitage's land to
the valley road and to the same point to which Shirley Claiborne had only
a few days before been escorted by the mountaineer.
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