Suddenly a shot flashed from a loop above, and he reeled in his stirrups and fell headlong.
A fierce roar followed from the soldiery; and, in an instant they forced their way bodily into the building, and woe to the Mexican whom they met when the word was given—"Pierre!"
"My God! they have murdered him!" cried Gordon; and forgetful of all else, he drove madly to the spot, sprang from his horse, and raised him from the bloody greensward.
"They have done for me at last," cried the gallant soldier, as Gordon raised his head upon his lap, as he knelt behind him.
"I trust not, indeed."
"They have. I am a dead man, Gordon. But come, my time is short; have me borne to the ladies—unless," he added, "you fear to let them see me."
"You are right. Maxwell is there, tending the hurt of young Alava."
They had conversed alone, with no witness but the beautiful brown horse of the Partisan, which, bleeding himself, from many wounds, stood close beside them, not having moved a yard since the fatal shot was fired, gazing upon his fallen master with an eye that seemed full of human intelligence and sympathy.
"Emperor knows that I am dying. Soh! Emperor, good horse. Soh! Emperor!" he added, raising his head a little to gaze on his favourite.