wards the right, having, as Heyward thought, got over nearly half the distance to the friendly works, when his ears were saluted with the fierce summons, apparently within twenty feet of them, of—
"Qui va là?"
"Push on!" whispered the scout, once more bending to the left.
"Push on!" repeated Heyward, when the summons was renewed by a dozen voices, each of which seemed charged with threatening menaces.
"C'est moi," cried Duncan, dragging, rather than leading those he supported, swiftly, onward.
"Bête! qui? moi!"
"Un ami de la France."
"Tu m'as plus Pair d'un ennemi de la France; arrete! ou pardieu je te ferai ami du diable. Non! feu; camarades, feu!"
The order was instantly obeyed, and the fog was stirred by the explosion of fifty muskets. Happily, the aim was bad, and the bullets cut the air in a direction a little different from that taken by the fugitives,
