Suddenly the night watch called the hour,—eleven; and then a lantern appeared and seemed to be drawing nearer. Advancing until they were within fifty paces of this light, they halted, and then the watchman called again: "Eleven o'clock and all's well!" If he saw the silent riders, he took them for ghosts wending their noiseless way through the mist. Here and there they passed a window that showed a candle still burning. The dogs bayed at the mysteriously moving forms, and the riders greatly feared the people would be aroused by their barking. The critical moment, however, was yet to come. Where the main street left the town stood a little building for the receipt of customs, and here, too, it was but natural to expect a guard. That one was there soon became evident. When the hussars had approached within a few hundred paces of the spot, they heard the signal for changing the watch, followed by the sound of approaching cavalry.
"It must be a whole troop," muttered Paul, as the steps drew near.
"They are coming straight toward us," whispered Richard. "Draw your swords!"
There seemed no other course left them but to fight their way through. The advancing horsemen, however, were presently heard to turn aside and pass down another street. The danger was averted.
Richard now led his men forward in silence, and the whole squadron rode through the gateway and out of the town under the very nose of the sentry, who doubtless mistook the hussars in the darkness and mist for his own comrades. Their number must have caused him some surprise; but by the time his suspicions were communicated to the sergeant-major, two hours later, and the matter reported to the commandant an hour after that, Richard and his men were far on their way.
"Now, my lads," said Richard, when that danger was safely past, "you may light your pipes and undo the rags from your horses' hoofs."
The success of the ruse had put his men in the best of humours, and even the horses seemed to share their riders' feelings; for they struck out with as much spirit as if they had but just left their stalls. The firm highway was such a relief to the riders, after struggling through bogs and marshes, that they made good progress. At length the road led up into the mountains, and when the sun rose they saw before them, as the mist rolled away, the lofty peaks of the Carpathians, beyond which lay home and friends.
A mountain hamlet received the weary riders with friendly, welcome and sympathy. Old and young, men and women, all had a kind word for them, and hastened to throw open their houses and their granaries. The horses were soon standing knee-deep in hay, while the peasants lent their aid in shoeing such as needed to be shod, and in mending broken harness. All that the good people had—and they were not people of much means—was placed before the hungry men for their refreshment.
"Ah, this will be a different kind of dinner from yesterday's," said one hussar to another, as they watched the preparations. But their exultation was premature. Before the baking and boiling were half done, the outposts came galloping in, shouting that the pursuers were in sight.
The soldiers whom the hussars had so cunningly tricked the night before were now bent on getting even with them. Infantry in wagons, and a troop of cavalry riding ahead, were making the best of their way after the fugitives. Nor, indeed, was it any remarkable achievement to overtake the weary hussars on their worn-out horses.