Two hours later, the two young men were up on the mountainside, high above Castelalto. Giorgio had as always led the ascent to the part of the mountain where the brigands’ treasure was rumored to be hidden—and as always, there was no treasure to be found anywhere. This of course had come as no surprise to either of them. Still, after a few more minutes of searching, Giancarlo began to feel annoyed at the fruitlessness of the search and complained that it was he who had wasted his time on this fool’s errand. At that the two began to bicker, as they were wont to do on such occasions. Sensing perhaps that this might be the time they really found something, Giorgio had felt inclined to press on with the search a little farther. Giancarlo, however, had had enough, and was of a mind to turn around and go back home to his piano before the sun started to set. A great row had ensued, and the two were soon on the verge of exchanging blows.

“Fine!” Giorgio had cried out bitterly instead of throwing the first punch. “You go back if you want to, and I’ll go on by myself. What do I care? Go fall off the side of the mountain and kill yourself, for all it matters to me!”

Giorgio followed up these harsh words with an obscene gesture at his brother, who responded in kind before heading back down the trail on his own. Not more than a minute or two later, as he was ascending the trail, Giorgio heard his brother cry out from below in a loud, anguished voice.

He stopped to listen.

“Giancarlo!” he called back.

No reply.

“Giancarlo!” he called again.

Silence, save for the whisper of the breeze.

Wasting no time, Giorgio scrambled back down the trail to find his brother. He soon came to the crest of a particularly steep ledge, which they had only just ascended a short while earlier. To Giorgio’s horror, there at the bottom lay Giancarlo, motionless.

“Dio mio, what have I done?” he cried at the sight.

Giorgio climbed down as fast as he could to where Giancarlo lay face down on the ground. He knelt as his brother’s side and took his hand. It fell limp in his grasp.

“Giancarlo!” Giorgio cried out. “Speak to me!”

Giancarlo did not move and, for all appearances, had stopped breathing. Fearing the worst, Giorgio burst into tears.

“My brother,” he wept in torment. “What am I going to tell Papa?” He turned his eyes upward. “God, forgive me for what I said. I didn’t mean it! I swear I never—”