Fast eBooks

Relax he must! Flesh and
blood could not stand the strain. Already the thrusts were less
fierce, the foot less ready, although there was no abatement of
the spirit in the steady gray eyes. Tranter, cunning and wary
from years of fighting, knew that his chance had come. He
brushed aside the frail weapon which was opposed to him, whirled
up his great blade, sprang back to get the fairer sweep--and
vanished into the waters of the Garonne.
So intent had the squires, both combatants and spectators, been
on the matter in hand, that all thought of the steep bank and
swift still stream had gone from their minds. It was not until
Tranter, giving back before the other's fiery rush, was upon the
very brink, that a general cry warned him of his danger. That
last spring, which he hoped would have brought the fight to a
bloody end, carried him clear of the edge, and he found himself
in an instant eight feet deep in the ice-cold stream. Once and
twice his gasping face and clutching fingers broke up through the
still green water, sweeping outwards in the swirl of the current.


Pages:
382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406