We saw them; but,
being on foot ourselves, we escaped their notice. But we heard our men
coming up with a shout.
"The devil, but it's dark!" cried a ringing voice.
It was young Rupert. A moment later, shots rang out. Our people had met
them. I started forward at a run, Sapt and Fritz following me.
"Thrust, thrust!" cried Rupert again, and a loud groan following told
that he himself was not behind-hand.
"I'm done, Rupert!" cried a voice. "They're three to one. Save
yourself!"
I ran on, holding my cudgel in my hand. Suddenly a horse came towards
me. A man was on it, leaning over his shoulder.
"Are you cooked too, Krafstein?" he cried.
There was no answer.
I sprang to the horse's head. It was Rupert Hentzau.
"At last!" I cried.
For we seemed to have him. He had only his sword in his hand. My men
were hot upon him; Sapt and Fritz were running up. I had outstripped
them; but if they got close enough to fire, he must die or surrender.
"At last!" I cried.
"It's the play-actor!" cried he, slashing at my cudgel. He cut it clean
in two; and, judging discretion better than death, I ducked my head
and (I blush to tell it) scampered for my life. The devil was in Rupert
Hentzau; for he put spurs to his horse, and I, turning to look, saw him
ride, full gallop, to the edge of the moat and leap in, while the shots
of our party fell thick round him like hail.
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