I might save the man yet, I
shouted to him to encourage him, and was driving in my spurs to
second my voice, when a sudden vicious blow, swift and
unexpected, struck the pistol from my hand.
I made a snatch at it as it fell, but missed it, and before I
could recover myself, Mademoiselle thrust her horse furiously
against mine, and with her riding-whip lashed the sorrel across
the ears. As the horse reared up madly, I had a glimpse of her
eyes flashing hate through her mask; of her hand again uplifted;
the next moment, I was down in the road, ingloriously unhorsed,
the sorrel was galloping away, and her horse, scared in its turn,
was plunging unmanageably a score of paces from me.
But for that I think that she would have trampled on me. As it
was, I was free to rise, and draw, and in a twinkling was running
towards the fighters. All had happened in a few seconds. My man
was still defending himself, the smoke of the carbine had
scarcely risen. I sprang across a fallen tree that intervened,
and at the same moment two of the men detached themselves and
rode to meet me.
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