All the
yeomen, peasants and slaves whose abodes were near the post, were, on the
surface, on the best of terms with the road-constables; pretended to help
them with information, retailing to them as rumors all sorts of inventions
calculated to throw them off the scent of the outlaws, always with an air
of the friendliest good-will; and loitered, idling about the post,
chatting of local gossip.
I was so entirely trusted that I was taken to the outlaws' camp and made
acquainted with the entire band. Paradoxically the members of the band
were all hulking burly ruffians of twenty-five to thirty-five years,
whereas their chief, while big and brawny enough, was inferior in size to
any of his subordinates and younger by six full years than the youngest of
them. To him I was boisterously presented as a brother, for his name also
was Felix. In fact, he was the man since famous as Felix Bulla, for long
the most redoubtable outlaw in Italy. Then he was hardly more than a lad,
for all his bulk and strength and ferocity. He had been appointed chief of
the band by the King of the Highwaymen in person, who held him in the
warmest regard for his ruthlessness, courage, skill, and cunning,
especially for his cunning, rating him, as I was told by all the band, and
having proclaimed him to them, as the most subtle and crafty outlaw alive
after himself.
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