Every face was turned upon him with scowling inquiry, when the boy, gasping for breath, shouted out:
“The Mexicans are on the road!”
The words had scarcely passed his lips when the trampling of hoofs sounded in our ears, and the next moment a band of horsemen came driving pell-mell into the opening. At a single glance we recognised the guerilla!
Ransom, who was nearest, blazed away at the foremost of the band, missing his aim. With a spring the guerillero was over him, his sabre raised for the blow. I fired, and the Mexican leapt from his saddle with a groan.
“Thank you, Haller,” cried my antagonist, as we rushed side by side towards the pistols.
There were four pairs in all, and the surgeons and seconds had already armed themselves, and were pointing their weapons at the enemy. We seized the remaining two, cocking them as we turned.
At this moment my eye fell upon a black horse, and, looking, I recognised the rider. He saw and recognised me at the same moment, and, driving the spurs into his horse’s flanks, sprang forward with a yell. With one bound he was over me, his white teeth gleaming like a tiger’s. His sabre flashed in my eyes—I fired—a heavy body dashed against me—I was struck senseless to the earth!
I was only stunned, and in a few moments I came to my senses. Shots and shouts rang around me. I heard the trampling of hoofs and the groans of wounded men.
I looked up. Horsemen in dark uniforms were galloping across the glade and into the woods beyond. I recognised the yellow facings of the American dragoons.
I drew my hand over my face; it was wet with blood. A heavy body lay across mine, which Little Jack, with all his strength, was endeavouring to drag off. I crawled from under it, and, bending over, looked at the features. I knew them at a glance. I muttered to my servant: