Strange cries arose from afar off, and the smuggler, gazing through the smoke, saw a bloody lane in the enemy's ranks. He shook both his hands above his head exultingly, and a shout of triumph arose from the breastworks.
"Dismount!" he cried to his men. "Now is our time for action! Bring cartridges and balls from your caissons. Load! We will sweep the road! Ready! Fire!"
The smugglers applied themselves to the work, and shot after shot tore through the white masses. The fire enfiladed the ranks, and the tenth discharge was at a flying foe.
"Fire! fire!" shouted Marc. And the partisans, re-enforced by Frantz, regained the position they had for a moment lost.
And now the mountain-side was covered only with dead, wounded, and flying. It was four o'clock in the evening, and night was falling fast. The last cannon-shot fell in the street of Grandfontaine, and, rebounding, overturned the chimney of the "Red Ox."
Six hundred men had perished. Many of the mountaineers had fallen, but many more of the Kaiserliks. Dives's cannonade had saved all; for the partisans were not even one against ten, and the enemy had almost made himself master of their works.
Chapter XVI.
The Austrians, crowded in Grandfontaine, fled toward Framont, on foot and on horseback, flinging their knapsacks away, and looking behind as if they feared the mountaineers were in hot pursuit.
In Grandfontaine, in a sort of spirit of revenge, they broke whatever they could lay hands on, tore out windows, crushed in doors, demanded food and drink, and insulted the people by way of payment. Their imprecations and cries, the commands of their officers, the complaints of the inhabitants, the heavy tramp of feet across the bridge of Framont, and the agonized neigh of wounded horses, all rose in a confused murmur to the abatis.