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Hope, Anthony, 1863-1933

"The Prisoner of Zenda"

"
He cautiously closed the open chink of the door.
Then we retreated through the house and made our way to the back
entrance. Here our horses were standing. A carriage-drive swept all
round the lodge.
"Revolver ready?" asked Sapt.
"No; steel for me," said I.
"Gad, you're thirsty tonight," chuckled Sapt. "So be it."
We mounted, drawing our swords, and waited silently for a minute or two.
Then we heard the tramp of men on the drive the other side of the house.
They came to a stand, and one cried:
"Now then, fetch him out!"
"Now!" whispered Sapt.
Driving the spurs into our horses, we rushed at a gallop round the
house, and in a moment we were among the ruffians. Sapt told me
afterwards that he killed a man, and I believe him; but I saw no more of
him. With a cut, I split the head of a fellow on a brown horse, and he
fell to the ground. Then I found myself opposite a big man, and I was
half conscious of another to my right. It was too warm to stay, and with
a simultaneous action I drove my spurs into my horse again and my sword
full into the big man's breast. His bullet whizzed past my ear--I could
almost swear it touched it. I wrenched at the sword, but it would not
come, and I dropped it and galloped after Sapt, whom I now saw about
twenty yards ahead.


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