"He drives his lance-butt into the sod and gets out of his saddle. His comrade sits the other horse, pistol lifted, elbow on thigh. And there comes then another Uhlan, walking and leading his horse—three of the dirty brigands, Monsieur, across the border and on our side!"
"Go on."
"Eh bien—we bled them!"
"You killed them?"
"Yes, Monsieur—two there by the hedge in the grassy ditch; the other hung to his horse for a while—but came off sideways. One spur caught and his horse took him back that way—across the border."
"Go on."
"We took their schapskas. Jean Pascal wished to go across the border after more Wolves. He was crazy. And the blood made us all a little drunk. And then we found that the Moresnet man had gone. That chilled us."
He wiped his face with his sleeve, never taking his eyes from the wall across the garden.
"After that," he said, "we lay very still, watching. And in a little while an Uhlan crossed the hill pasture walking his horse slowly against the stars. Then there were others moving across the sky up there, and we also heard others on the road. So we have been quietly falling back into the forest where, if they follow, they shall not go back, please God!"