"On, on!" cried Thorstenson, getting to his left side, and seizing the rearing horse by the bridle: the animal plunged to the very brink of the bridge, and appeared in imminent danger of falling into the gulph. "On, on!" still shouted Thorstenson; but both he and Drost Peter vainly sought to urge on their shy and strange steeds. This sudden stoppage brought all the horses in the rear close together, and in the greatest disorder, so that none of them could now stir without the certainty of forcing another over the bridge.
"Lay down your arms!" shouted the voice behind them, "or we pitch you over, one and all!"
Presently, Drost Peter's sword rang among the halberds, and Morten Longknife fell, as his long blade whistled past Drost Peter's ear.
"Throw them over, the dogs! hack away!" cried the young robber chief, behind.
With a wild shout, they commenced a furious onslaught from both sides at once. Drost Peter and Thorstenson fought a dubious fight on the brink of the bridge, in which their plunging horses were severely wounded in the chest by the long halberds. A frightful battle raged behind: the pirates pressed on, and the four huntsmen in the rear were hurled, with their backs broken, together with their horses, into the deep.
Rimaardson could now, for the first time, stir; and he dexterously turned his horse about, to avoid the same fate as his unhappy jagers. He was on the point of rushing upon the wild, shouting freebooters, when his eye fell on the young robber chief, who wore the knight's hat. The sword fell from his hand, and both grew pale.
"Hold, fellows! give place for them!" cried the leader of the pirates: "in Satan's name, let them ride on!"
In an instant, not a single rover was to be seen on the bridge. Drost Peter and Sir Thorstenson were relieved as by a miracle, and rode hastily over the suddenly vacated bridge. Sir Rimaardson followed them silently, and as pale as a ghost. They rode up the height above the thicket, and there drew up their tired and bleeding horses. Presently they saw the ten rovers take flight, with their dead comrade's body, and disappear in the thicket at the opposite end of the bridge.
"How was this?" asked Drost Peter: "did the angel of death fight on our side, and strike the murderers with terror? Are you also safe, Sir Rimaardson?"
"Safe?" he repeated, gloomily: "yes, in Satan's name, I am safe. Better for me that I were lying, crushed and mangled, with my huntsmen."