A mile farther on they had just crossed the stream of which the man had spoken, when Jack suddenly reined up his horse and in a low tone ordered his men to halt.
"Do you hear anything, Kelly?" he asked of one of the troopers.
The man turned his head aside, and his companions sat motionless, an expectant look upon their faces.
"Riders, sir!" said Kelly in a moment.
"I thought so," returned Jack. "To our right, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
There was a moment's silence. Behind them came a slight murmur from the full river, but more distinctly, from some distant point beyond a wall-enclosed orchard on their right, sounded the unmistakable clatter of horses' hoofs on the hard road.
"Wait here," said Jack, springing from his horse. "Don't make a sound. I'm going forward to reconnoitre. Hold my horse's rein, Kelly, and don't let him champ his bit."
He ran forward, round a slight bend in the road. In two minutes he was back.
"Men," he said in a low voice, "there's a road to the right, and half a dozen Frenchmen riding down towards us. I think they're French—by their helmets. We four are a match for the six, eh?"