The swords went rattling into their scabbards. The guide, equipped with alpenstock and climbing irons, led the way, Richard followed him, and the hussars came trailing behind, with old Paul as rear guard.
The enemy, after waiting an hour for the fugitives to make a sally from the village, pulled some very long faces when they caught sight of them, high up on the mountainside, following in single file a steep path along the face of the cliff. Never before had horse's hoof trodden that perilous path; it was so narrow that both steed and rider were in constant danger of being hurled into the mountain stream that ran foaming a hundred fathoms below. One false step or an attack of giddiness would have been fatal.
Amazement was followed by anger on the part of the pursuers. They had no desire to give chase, but, to prevent their intended victims' escape without a scratch, they discharged their rifles at them. Their pieces had a range of a thousand paces, and the target could not have been better,—dark blue uniforms against a white limestone background. The rifle-balls rebounded from the cliff, so that each one went whistling twice by the hussars' ears—as if their position had not been already sufficiently perilous.
Yet in that hour of danger the horsemen sat half asleep in their saddles, with nodding heads and drooping eyelids. Only Richard in the van and old Paul in the rear were still on the alert, and kept calling to their comrades to wake up. A turn in the path presently led the riders out of range, and there was no further cause to fear molestation. A fir grove, as sombre and still as a cathedral, received them in its shelter. Here the starving men unearthed a store of turnips that had been deposited there for feeding sheep. It was not an inviting dish to human palates; but hunger like theirs is not squeamish, and they were only too glad to feed on the coarse provender. They wished to rest in the grove, but their guide spurred them on once more; pleasant weather was too precious to be wasted in that region, where fog and darkness would be sure to afford them all the time they needed for repose.
Forward, then, as long as horse and rider were able to move!
In the afternoon the hussars came to a shepherd's hut, where their guide committed his charge to the care of the occupant of the little shanty, and himself returned to the village. Finding a few trusses of hay, Richard and his men bought them for their horses. But was there nothing, they asked, which might serve to stay a hungry man's stomach? The sheep were feeding below in the valley, and it was too late to go after them. There was, however, a tub of sheep's milk that had been set away to curdle for cheese; it was not an appetising drink, to be sure, but nourishing and strengthening. Each hussar received half a glassful.
As there was some moonlight that night, Richard determined to make the most of it, and the weary hussars were forced to push on. They had but just begun the really arduous part of their journey. The path led upward and was very steep. The fir trees became fewer, and in their stead began to appear juniper trees, of good, sturdy growth at first, but ever becoming smaller, until at last they were no larger than bramble bushes.
When the sun rose over the mountain-tops in front, it hung lustreless and shrouded in mist. The guide began to hint that a snow-storm was in prospect. All vegetation disappeared as they climbed higher; not even a blade of grass showed itself on the bare mountainside; no sign of man or beast or bird greeted the eye; it was all death's kingdom, a landscape of tombstones, the home of the clouds, whither no sound of herdsman's horn, or hunter's rifle, or bell of sheep or goat ever penetrated.
Toward noon, as the hussars were descending into a ravine, a dense mist began to rise from below.
"If it reaches us we shall have a long resting spell," remarked the guide to Richard. "Let us hasten down into the ravine, where there is brushwood and we can at least make a fire if the weather is bad."