A voice, coming from somewhere, caused him suddenly to start and rein in his steed with a jerk. The animal snorted, as if it scented danger, and Francesco loosened the sword in the scabbard anticipating an ambush, when he pushed it back with a puzzled look. Before a wayside shrine, almost entirely concealed by weeds, there knelt a grotesque figure at orisons. He either had not heard the tramp of Francesco's steed, or ignored it on purpose, for not until the latter called to him did he turn, and with much relief Francesco recognized his former guide from the camp of the Duke of Spoleto. "Where is the camp of the duke?" he queried curtly, impatient with the man's exhibition of secular godliness. "Many miles away," replied he of the goat's-beard, as he arose and kissed a little holly-wood cross that he carried. "Lead me to it!" The godly little man flopped again, scraped some dust together with his two hands, spat upon it, then smeared his forehead with the stuff, uttering the names of sundry saints. Francesco had come to the end of his patience. "Get up, my friend," he said, "we have had enough praying for one day!" The goatherd offered to anoint him with dust and spittle, pointing a stumpy forefinger, but Francesco was filled with disgust. He caught the man by the girdle and lifted him to his feet. "Enough of this!" he said. "Is the devil so much your master?" The goatherd blinked red-lidded and pious eyes, while he scanned the horizon. Then he pointed with his holly staff to a blue hill that rose against the eastern sky. "How far?" queried Francesco. The goatherd was anointing himself with spittle. "Each mile in these parts grows more evil," he said, tracing the sign of the cross. "It behooves a Christian to be circumspect!" Francesco prodded him with his scabbard. "How far?" "Some ten leagues," replied the gnome. "The day is clear, and the place looks nearer than it is!" It occurred to Francesco that there must be some human abode close by, as the goatherd, entirely familiar with the region, would not wander too far from habitations of the living. And upon having made known his request, the little man preceded him at a lively pace. At a lodge in the forest deeps they halted, and here Francesco and his guide rested during the hot hours of noon, partaking of such food as the liberality of their host, an old anchorite, set before them. After men and steed had rested, they set out anew.