A
trot for a few miles. The quicker the ride is done, baron, the
quicker the surgeon will look to your arm."
And silence fell upon the troop. Occasionally a stray horse in
the fields whinneyed, and was answered from the road; sometimes
the howl of a dog broke the monotony. On and on they rode; hour
and mile were left behind them. The moon fell lower and lower,
and the mountains rose higher and higher, and the wind which had
risen had a frosty sting to it. Maurice now began to show the
true state of his temper by cursing his horse whenever it rubbed
against one of its fellows. His back was lame, and there was a
dull pain in one of his shoulders. When he had made the rush for
the door, clubbing right and left with the empty revolvers, he
had finally been thrown on an overturned chair.
"Here, hang you!" he said to the trooper who held the bridle of
his horse, "I'm cold; you might at least turn up my collar about
my throat."
"You are welcome to my cloak," said the trooper, disengaging
that article from his shoulders.
"Thank you," said Maurice, somewhat abashed by the respectful tone.
The trooper offered his blanket to Fitzgerald.
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