“Show the minions no quarter!” answered Nat, in a voice like thunder.
In the midst of the British, fighting with the fierceness to which a despairing, cowardly heart can sometimes be goaded, was Turner.
Twice did John Vale urge his horse in the direction of the tory, and twice was he prevented from reaching him. Though blows fell fast around, yet the two seemed to bear a charmed life, and the strife continued, bearing them still unhurt. Again did Vale press forward. Suddenly he felt a strange sensation creep over him; his sight became dimmed, his head appeared to be whirling round and round, and he fell from his horse.
But if John Vale was down, a score and a half of stout, unflinching, maddened patriots were not. One Briton after another fell, until scarce fifteen left, they broke and fled.
Mounted on horseback, with young Hunt on foot beside her, Catherine hastened on. Passing through the woods for some distance, the road, turning, crossed their way, and the two kept on in the beaten path. Kate’s heart was beating wildly enough with suspense. The first volley of pistol-shots was heard quite plainly by her; after that the sounds of battle came but indistinctly—soon nothing was to be heard.
Almost unconsciously Kate had reined in her horse, and sat as though waiting to hear news of the fight. How long she thus remained, she could hardly have told; it must have been for some minutes, for the boy seemed to think the delay too long.
“Come, miss,” said he, “if I am to take charge of you, I would rather have you further off from the spot we have just left. There’s no telling what may happen, and, although I want to see our side whip, you can’t have every thing as you want it. Best to be moving along, I guess.”
The advice was good, but it came rather late. Around the bend of the road, from underneath the overhanging boughs, came a flying horseman. Hatless and bleeding, his locks disheveled and his face all distorted with anger and fear, one could scarce recognize the once gallant-looking Captain Preston. Catherine Vale did, and right good reason had she to do so. With a cry of terror she drew up her reins and struck the horse with her foot to urge him into a run.
Onward thundered the trooper; and behind him, but a few rods, still grasping a sword, came Timothy Turner.
The eye of Reginald fell upon Kate.