With a bound that carried me
forward some six paces, the animal sank, quivering, to the ground. I
disengaged my feet from the stirrups as he fell, but the shock of it sent
me rolling on the ground, and the ruffian, seeing me fallen, sprang
forward, swinging his musket up above his head. I dodged the murderous
downward stroke, and as the stock buried itself close beside me in the soft
earth I rose on one knee and with a grim laugh I raised my pistol. I
brought the muzzle within a hand's breadth of his face, then fired and shot
him through the head. Perchance you'll say it was a murderous, cruel
stroke: mayhap it was, but at such seasons men stay not to unravel
niceties, but strike ere they themselves be stricken.
Leaping over the twitching corpse, I got out my sword and sprang after St.
Auban, who, with Vilmorin and Yvonne, careless of what might betide his
followers, was now within ten paces of the boat.
Pistol shots cracked behind me, and I wondered how Michelot was faring, but
dared not pause to look.
The twain in the boat stood up, wielding their great oars, and methought
them on the point of coming to their master's aid, in which case my battle
had truly been a lost one.
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