“I trust that none of your teeth are loose,” ventured the Colonel.
“If they are, they'll be tight enough ere many days have passed,” was the threatening reply.
“Beware the dog!” cried the Colonel, and he resumed his place at the head of the little troop.
Maurice took this opportunity to bend toward Fitzgerald. “Have you anything of importance about you?” he whispered significantly.
“Nothing. But God send that no chambermaid change the sheet in my bed at the hotel.”
“Are they—”
“Silence.” Fitzgerald saw the trooper next with his hand to his ear.
After a time the Colonel sang out: “Fifteen miles more, with three on the other side, men; we must put more life into us. A trot for a few miles. The quicker the ride is done, baron, the quicker the surgeon will look to your arm.”
And silence fell upon the troop. Occasionally a stray horse in the fields whinneyed, and was answered from the road; sometimes the howl of a dog broke the monotony. On and on they rode; hour and mile were left behind them. The moon fell lower and lower, and the mountains rose higher and higher, and the wind which had risen had a frosty sting to it. Maurice now began to show the true state of his temper by cursing his horse whenever it rubbed against one of its fellows. His back was lame, and there was a dull pain in one of his shoulders. When he had made the rush for the door, clubbing right and left with the empty revolvers, he had finally been thrown on an overturned chair.
“Here, hang you!” he said to the trooper who held the bridle of his horse, “I'm cold; you might at least turn up my collar about my throat.”