"Level your pistol, landlord!" cried Harry.
The pale perspiring landlord held his harmless weapon in his left hand, covered by the loaded pistol of Max in the coach. On they drove, ploughing up the soil heavy with last night's rain, the horses straining at the traces. They were within thirty yards of the bridge.
"Shout, landlord!" said Harry in a loud whisper through the open window.
"Here we are! here we are!" cried the man.
"Louder!"
"Here we are!" He almost shrieked the words.
"The others are behind!" prompted Harry.
"The others are behind!" cried the landlord.
The sentry at the farther end of the bridge gave an answering shout; the boards that served for a gate were removed; the coach clattered and rumbled over the rocking creaking planks, and the postilions pulled up their reeking horses in the courtyard of the castle.
CHAPTER XXI