“Then you’ll keep your guineas, sir,” said the orderly, “that’s Capt. Preston, and nobody else.”
“Is that fellow, Macdonald, with him? He is worth two men, and it would be a lucky hit to get both.”
“No, sir, I know his cut well—but he’s not along. And that’s odd too, for he and Capt. Preston always go together like dogs hunting in couples.”
“Then we have him!” said Major Lindsay, exultingly. “He cannot escape us.”
“Shall we blow trumpet and charge at once then?” said the orderly. “Our men will go at ’em like hungry wolves. They’ve a long score to settle.”
“Not yet,” said Major Lindsay, “we will wait till those fellows come up; then, boot and saddle, and upon them. I would not have them escape us for my life.”
The dragoons, informed who the enemy was, chafed impatiently to begin the attack—for they had a hundred insults to avenge on the bold partisan before them. Meanwhile, our hero, for the orderly had been right in saying Capt. Preston led the troop, approached on a trot, completely unconscious of the presence of his hidden enemy. He was engaged in a scouting expedition of some extent, and had no idea an armed royalist was within twenty miles. Suddenly, however, he drew in his rein, for he thought he heard a horse stamping in the forest; but it was too late; Major Lindsay saw they were discovered, and immediately gave the long wished for word.
“Charge!” he said, plunging his rowels into the sides of his horse, and clearing at one bound the space between him and the road.
With a loud huzza, the dragoons shouting, “no quarter,” followed his example, horse and man suddenly filling the road like apparitions. Preston saw he was surrounded. Their cries told him, moreover, that it was to be a life and death struggle. Five against fifteen was fearful odds, yet he cried,
“Marion for ever!” and drawing his sabre, he dashed at Lindsay, whom he recognized. “Ha! have we met!” he cried.