"On, Frojac!" I said, and on we went. We could make better speed now, for the road, though little used and in bad condition, was continuous and, unlike the forest path, comparatively free of intrusive vegetation. It was hard, too, for the weather had been dry for a long time. The loud clatter of the horses' hoofs was some relief to my eager heart.
There is a place where this road passes near the verge of a precipice, which, like that at Maury, falls sheer to the road along the River Creuse from Clochonne to Narjec. But, unlike that at Maury, this declivity is bare of trees.
We were galloping steadily on and were approaching this place in the road. Frojac was now riding at my side, as there was room for two horsemen to go abreast.
"Hark!" said Frojac, suddenly. "Do you hear something?"
I heard the sounds made by our riding, but no other.
"Horsemen," he went on. "And men afoot, on the march!"
"Where?" I asked. We continued to gallop forward.
"Ahead," he answered. "Don't you hear, monsieur?"
I listened. Yes, there was the far-off sound of many shod feet striking hard earth.
"It is ahead," said I.