“Charge!” shouted Butler, driving in his spurs, and away he went at full speed after the three quiet equestrians.
The tall cavalier in the Louis XIV dress turned quietly in his saddle when he heard the thunder of hoofs on the road behind him, and spoke a few words to his companions, with a gesture of contempt.
Then, as Butler came within a hundred yards, the two black horses and the dapple-gray started at a tremendous rate of speed, which speedily distanced the lumbering dragoons, and taxed the utmost exertions of the steed of the partisan himself, to maintain his place.
In vain he plied his spurs. His horse was doing its best and nothing could be gained. Presently the road gave a turn round the wood, and they came in sight of the American lines, as also within gunshot of a long rank of horsemen, in the white frocks of Morgan’s riflemen. The tall cavalier pulled up, and turned to meet Butler, at that sight, while Adrian and Diana rode on.
The dogged courage of the partisan never failed him, though his men were not within supporting distance. He thundered on to meet the stranger, and broadsword and long rapier met with a savage clang.
“Alphonse de Cavannes! I have you at last!”
“Pierce Harley, your time is come!”
Hissing the fierce greetings between their teeth, the combatants closed in a mortal struggle.