The blow did not take effect, but a moment had not passed before the old peasant lay sprawling on his back with both the boys on top of him.
"You cannot hurt the mother now," said Ruggiero.

"Hit him as I do, Bastianello!" And the four bony boyish fists fell in a storm of savage blows upon Don Pietro Casale's leathern face and eyes and head and thin grey lips.
"That is for the mother," said Ruggiero.

"Another fifty a-piece for ourselves." The wiry old peasant struggled desperately, and at last threw himself free of them and staggered to his feet.
"Quick, Bastianello!" shouted Ruggiero.
In the twinkling of an eye they were over the fence and running at full speed for the valley.

Don Pietro bruised, dazed and half-blinded, struggled after them, crashing through hedges and stumbling into ditches while he shouted for help in his pursuit.

But his heavy shoes hampered him, and at best he was no match for them in speed.