“Oh, do!” she whispered, hoarsely, as she handed it to him. “They are lancers in uniform. Oh, me! This is dreadful! And they may follow us, too.”
Colonel Tassara took the glass with apparently perfect coolness, and Ned took note that it did not tremble at all, as he aimed it at the distant skirmish. It was a number of seconds, however, before he reported:
“Hurrah! The general rides on, and he rides well. I feel sure that he is not badly wounded, if at all. He has now but three men with him. There are riderless horses. There are men on the ground. There are four only that are riding back toward the Cordoba road. Thank God! The general has made good his escape from that party of unlucky lancers. He is a fighter!”
Then he lowered the glass to turn and shout fiercely to his own men:
“Forward! We must reach Orizaba before the news of this skirmish gets there, if we kill all our horses doing it. Push on!”
CHAPTER IX.
LEAVING THE HACIENDA
It was near the close of a bright summer day, and a deeply interested company had gathered in the dining-room of the Crawford home in New York. Dinner was on the table, but nobody had yet sat down. The number of young persons present suggested that Ned must have older brothers and sisters.