"No, sir," replied the groom, but at that moment the sound of galloping came from both directions.
There was going to be a tussle after all, it seemed.
"You have your pistols. If anyone tries to stop us, you have my orders to fire—but only at the horses, mind. Follow me close."
We were on a small heath, and I pricked my horse into an easy canter in the direction I had to take to get to the place of which Zoiloff had told me.
"Halt! Who goes there?" and the horseman checked his steed with a rattle of steel that told me he was a cavalryman.
"A friend," said I, but not drawing rein.
"Halt!" came the cry again. The horseman behind was now coming up fast, and I could hear the sounds of the others scurrying after us on foot.
"I'm in a hurry, and can't wait," I said.
"Halt, or I shall fire," and I heard him get his carbine; but I was not going to be trapped by a single cavalryman, and before he had an idea of my intention I had carried it into execution.
We were nearly abreast of him, cantering easily, when I wheeled my horse around, dug the spurs into his sides, dashed right against the man who had challenged me, dragged his weapon from his hands, and flung it on the ground.
"Now," I called to the groom, "as fast as the wind, and bend low;" and together we rattled over the heath at a pace that made pursuit hopeless, even had the two men behind been inclined for a chase. But they were not. A couple of shots were fired after us, but as the darkness hid our forms, and the grass deadened our horses' footfalls, they were but random shots, not destined to find their billets in our bodies.
