You're pulling them
down, old boy; keep it up. There's trouble ahead, and since the
cuirassiers are for the king, we'll stand by the cuirassiers."
On they flew, nearer and nearer, until the pistol shots were no
longer echoes. Two other horsemen came into view, in advance of
the carriage. Five minutes more of this exciting chase, and the
faces took on lines and grew into features. Up, up crept the
gallant little horse, his hoofs rattling against the road like
snares on a drum. When within a dozen rods, Maurice saw one of
the cuirassiers turn and level a revolver at him. Fortunately
the horse swerved, and the ball went wide.
"Don't shoot!" Maurice yelled; "don't shoot!"
The face he saw was von Mitter's. His heart clogged in his
throat, not at the danger which threatened him, but at the
thought of what that carriage might contain.
A short time passed, during which nothing was heard but the
striking of galloping hoofs and the rumble of the carriage.
Maurice soon drew abreast of von Mitter. There was a gash on the
latter's cheek, and the blood from it dripped on his cuirass.
"Close for you, my friend," he gasped; when he recognized the
new arrival.
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