Chapter Five—The Work of Wildfoot
I remained for a minute or two in a stupor, superinduced by the excitement of the fight and my great physical exertions. From this I was aroused by Barton, who was now in command, Blake being disabled.
"It was gallantly done, Lieutenant Melville," he said. "You have saved our captain's life."
"Are you sure he is still living?" I asked.
"He is stunned by the shock he received when that great rebel hurled him to the ground," said Barton, "but he will be well enough in time."
"You have saved more lives than Blake's," whispered Marcel, as Barton turned. "You have saved yours and mine, for that villain Belfort suspected that you threw your horse purposely against his. In face of this he dare not declare his suspicions."
"By the way," resumed Marcel, a moment later, "you might ask our haughty Norman noble over there if the rebel dogs can fight."
I did not ask the question, though, had time and place been otherwise, it would have pleased me much to do so.