The keen, sharp air cut our cheeks and
warned me that we were approaching the summit of the ridge. On
all sides were silence and desolation.
MON DIEU! And the ruffians on whose tender mercies I was to be
thrown might come to meet us! They might appear at any moment.
In my despair I loosened my hat on my head, and let the first
gust carry it to the ground, and then with an oath of annoyance
tossed my feet from the stirrups to go after it. But the rascal
roared to me to keep my seat.
'Forward, Monsieur!' he shouted brutally. 'Go on!'
'But my hat!' I cried. 'MILLE TONNERRES, man! I must--'
'Forward, Monsieur, or I shoot!' he replied inexorably raising
his gun. 'One--two--'
And I went on. But, ah, I was wrathful! That I, Gil de Berault,
should be outwitted, and led by the nose like a ringed bull, by
this Gascon lout! That I, whom all Paris knew and feared--if it
did not love--the terror of Zaton's, should come to my end in
this dismal waste of snow and rock, done to death by some pitiful
smuggler or thief! It must not be. Surely in the last resort I
could give an account of one man, though his belt were stuffed
with pistols.
Pages:
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146