The moon grew paler and the few stars disappeared before the touch of dawn; some distance along the road they caught a gleam of a fire.
“Some wayfarers who had not the money for a bed,” said Ethan. “It must have been a cold night, indeed, in the open air.”
It was a matter of five or more miles from the inn; the fire seemed to burn close by the roadside, and in the red glare a number of people could be seen sitting beside it. Suddenly Ethan pulled up, and uttered a smothered cry of surprise.
“Look,” said he. “There upon the other side of the road.”
They followed the direction of his outstretched finger, and saw a carriage drawn up, with horses tied up by the bridles behind it.
“Fochard!” exclaimed Longsword exultantly.
“It can be no one else,” said Ethan.
“It’s the carriage that I spoke to ye of, I feel sure,” said Captain McHale. “The lame horse must have broken down entirely at this point.”
Ethan put his horse into a run and the others followed his example. When they reached the fire they halted; and with his hand upon the butt of a pistol, Ethan cried out:
“Stand forth, Monsieur Fochard. We have a small matter of business with you.”