"Another shot! Keep up your fire, Pedro!" he muttered, not knowing where he was. "Hollo! what is the matter?" he cried, as the glare of the fire, flashing on the epaulets of Lewis, recalled his wandering ideas.
"Mr. Stuart, troops are in motion on the plain to the eastward. I considered it my duty to acquaint you," replied the other, and withdrew.
"They are either our own people, or some French party thrown forward from Merida. Stand to your arms, there. Men! rouse, rouse! Piper, blow the gathering. Mr. Lisle, get the men under arms,—let them fix bayonets and load: I will be with you immediately."
Moving in the direction of the advanced sentry who had given the alarm, he distinctly heard the rapid tramp of horse approaching towards them along the beaten track,—it deserved not the name of road, from Merida.
"Cavalry!" thought he, drawing his sword. "Now then for a solid square: I will not surrender to Dombrouski, without a show of fight, even should he come with all his lancers at his back, in their panoply of brass and steel." At that instant the cavalry halted; but the darkness was so great, that he could not discern any trace of them save their sabres, which glittered in the light of the watch-fire.
"Teevils and glaumories!" shouted the advanced sentinel, a bluff Gael from the forest of Athole, as he 'ported,' his musquet. "Wha's tat,—wha gaes there?"
"What the devil does he say? The challenge was German, Wyndham," said a distant voice.
"Low Dutch, decidedly," replied another with a reckless laugh. "Perhaps they are some of the chasseurs Britanniques."
"What would bring them here? Some of the cacadores, probably."
"Who goes there? What troops are these?" cried Ronald.