“They have seen us!” he said. “They’re not firing! They understand that we are friends! Courage, little comrade!”
“I am not afraid,” she smiled. “And I love that name—little comrade!”
“Here are the last entanglements—and then we’re through. What is that cavalry doing?”
She gave a little cry as she looked back along the road. At the same instant, Stewart heard the thunder of galloping hoofs.
“They are coming!” she screamed. “Oh, put me down! Put me down!”
“Not I!” gasped Stewart between his teeth, and glanced over his shoulder.
The Uhlans were charging in solid mass, their lances couched.
There was just one chance of escape—Stewart saw it instantly. Holding the girl close, he leaped into the ditch beside the road and threw himself flat against the ground, shielding her with his body.
In an instant the thunder of the charge was upon him. Then, high above the rattle of guns, rose the shouts of men, the screams of horses, the savage shock of the encounter. Something rolled upon him,—lay quivering against him—a wounded man—a dead one, perhaps—in any event, he told himself, grimly, so much added protection. Pray heaven that a maddened horse did not tramp them down!
The tumult died, the firing slackened. What was that? A burst of cheering?