Again the order was given to mount and away. The men were disposed to grumble.
"Let us stay where we are and fight it out," they cried. "We'll either beat them back, or fall in our tracks."
Indeed, there seemed at first no choice in the matter. The cavalry was upon them in the rear, while the infantry was making a détour, in order to lie in ambush in a grove just beyond the village, where they would try to check the farther flight of the deserters. In all probability the enemy would reach the grove before the hussars, as the latter had their horses still to saddle.
Meanwhile Richard had made a hasty reconnoissance. To fight their way through the infantry in front would, he felt convinced, result in heavy loss to his men, while the cavalry in their rear would be constantly harassing them until they were entirely destroyed. Not a single hussar would live to see his home. Such a needless sacrifice was to be avoided if possible. One other way was open,—a steep path leading up the mountainside toward its snow-capped summit.
"Is there a path over the mountain, and can we get a guide to show us the way?" asked Richard, of an old shepherd.
"There is a path," he replied, "and if you wish I will show you the way until I can hand you over to another guide. You need fear no pursuit, if you choose that path, but you are likely to perish of hunger."
"We'll try it, nevertheless," returned Richard.
The men were mounted by this time, and drawn up, sword in hand. The order was given to sheath their swords and right wheel.
"Where are we going?" cried the hussars, in a storm of disapproval. "Up the mountainside? We will go to hell first!"
Richard drew his pistols. "Whoever has forgotten his oath had best commit his soul to God," said he sternly. The angry murmurs were hushed. "Those who still have faith in me will follow. I am going ahead."