No; we shall send him back to his master." "It is a mistake.

If your Excellency would go away for an hour he should never know where the buzzards found this large carcass." "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.