Barbemouche remained back
with the rest.
I urged on my horse.
"It is useless, monsieur," said the young man at my side. "Your beast is
no match for theirs. Besides, you will not find a better place to make a
stand than the bridge yonder." And he pointed ahead to a bridge that
crossed a narrow stream that lay between high banks.
"What, face ten men?" I said.
"There are only three. The thing may be over before the others come up."
I laughed. "Well, admitting that, three against one--" I began.
"Oh, there will be two of us," replied the other.
My heart gave a joyous bound, but I said, "I cannot expect you to risk
your life in my quarrel."
And he answered, "By God! I myself have a quarrel with every man that
wears on his hat the white cross of the Guises!" His grey eyes flashed,
his face became red with wrath. "Let us stop, monsieur."
We stopped and turned our horses on the narrow bridge. We both drew sword
and waited. My new-found ally threw back his hat, and I saw across his
forehead a deep red scar, which I had not before noticed.
The three men rode up to the attack. They all stopped suddenly before
they reached the bridge.
"Give up your sword and come with us, monsieur," cried one of them to me.
I said nothing. "Go to hell!" roared my companion. And with that he
charged with the fury of a wild beast, riding between two of the
horsemen, and thrusting his sword through the eye and into the brain of
one before either could make the least show of defence.
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