Still, they
swore and cut at me; and it was trying work. A little delay
might enable the other man to come to their help, or
Mademoiselle, for all I knew, might shoot me with my own pistol.
I was unfeignedly glad when a lucky parade sent the masked man's
sword flying across the road. On that he pushed his horse
recklessly at me, spurring it without mercy; but the animal,
which I had several times touched, reared up instead, and threw
him at the very moment that I wounded his companion a second time
in the arm, and made him give back.
The scene was now changed. The man in the mask staggered to his
feet, and felt stupidly for a pistol. But he could not find one,
and he was in no state to use it if he had. He reeled helplessly
to the bank and leaned against it. The man I had wounded was in
scarcely better condition. He retreated before me, but in a
moment, losing courage, let drop his sword, and, wheeling round,
cantered off, clinging to his pommel. There remained only the
fellow engaged with my man, and I turned to see how they were
getting on. They were standing to take breath, so I ran towards
them; but on seeing me coming, this rascal, too, whipped round
his horse and disappeared in the wood, and left us victors.
Pages:
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267