“Bravo! you’ve killed him, I think.”
“No, wounded his horse only.”
“What would you have, my dear fellow? One doesn’t hit the bull’s-eye every time; it is something to hit inside the ring. Ho! parbleau! what is the matter with my horse?”
“Your horse is falling,” said Porthos, reining in his own.
In truth, the lieutenant’s horse stumbled and fell on his knees; then a rattling in his throat was heard and he lay down to die. He had received in the chest the bullet of D’Artagnan’s first adversary. D’Artagnan swore loud enough to be heard in the skies.
“Does your honor want a horse?” asked Mousqueton.
“Zounds! want one!” cried the Gascon.
“Here’s one, your honor——”
“How the devil hast thou two horses?” asked D’Artagnan, jumping on one of them.
“Their masters are dead! I thought they might be useful, so I took them.”