The woods run into the Vizzavona forest, and anybody who had friends at Bocognano or in the neighbourhood would want for nothing.
That's a good gun you have there.

It must carry a long way.

Blood of the Madonna! What calibre! You might kill better game than boars with it!" Orso answered, coldly, that his gun was of English make, and carried "the lead" a long distance.

The friends embraced, and took their different ways.
Our travellers were drawing quite close to Pietranera, when, at the entrance of a little gorge, through which they had to pass, they beheld seven or eight men, armed with guns, some sitting on stones, others lying on the grass, others standing up, and seemingly on the lookout.
Their horses were grazing a little way off.

Colomba looked at them for a moment, through a spy-glass which she took out of one of the large leathern pockets all Corsicans wear when on a journey.
"Those are our men!" she cried, with a well-pleased air.