"I'll make you squint, you young cub," he hissed, lunging at me.
He ripped my blouse at the shoulder, and, gods of war! we made the
sparks fly. Then he went down, wriggling; I had caught him in the
side, poor fellow! Like a flash I was off in a thicket. One of
the enemy got out of my way and sent a bullet after me. I could
feel it rip and sting in the muscle as it rubbed my ribs. I kept
foot and made for my horse. He had caught his reins, and I was on
him and off in the bush, between bullets that came ripping the
leaves about me, before they could give chase.
Drums were beating the call to arms somewhere. I struck the trail
in a minute, and, leaning low in the saddle, went bounding over
logs and rocks and down a steep hillside as if the devil were after
me. I looked back, and was nearly raked off by a bough. I could
hear horses coming in the trail behind with quick and heavy jumps.
But I was up to rough riding and had little fear they would get a
sight of me. However, crossing a long stretch of burnt timber,
they must have seen me. I heard a crack of pistols far behind; a
whiz of bullets over my head. I shook out the reins and let the
horse go, urging with cluck and spur, never slacking for rock or
hill or swale. It was a wilder ride than any I have known since or
shall again, I can promise you, for, God knows, I have been hurt
too often. Fast riding over a new trail is leaping in the dark and
worse than treason to one's self. Add to it a saddle wet with your
own blood, then you have something to give you a turn of the
stomach thinking of it.
When I was near tumbling with a kind of rib-ache and could hear no
pursuer, I pulled up. There was silence about me, save the sound
of a light breeze in the tree-tops. I rolled off my horse, and
hooked my elbow in the reins, and lay on my belly, grunting with
pain. I felt better, having got my breath, and a rod of beech to
bite upon--a good thing if one has been badly stung and has a
journey to make. In five minutes I was up and off at a slow jog,
for I knew I was near safety.
I thought much of poor D'ri and how he might be faring. The last I
had seen of him, he was making good use of pistol and legs, running
from tree to tree. He was a dead shot, little given to wasting
lead. The drums were what worried me, for they indicated a big
camp, and unless he got to the stirrups in short order, he must
have been taken by overwhelming odds. It was near sundown when I
came to a brook and falls I could not remember passing. I looked
about me. Somewhere I had gone off the old trail--everything was
new to me. It widened, as I rode on, up a steep hill. Where the
tree-tops opened, the hill was covered with mossy turf, and there
were fragrant ferns on each side of me. The ground was clear of
brush and dead timber. Suddenly I heard a voice singing--a sweet
girl voice that thrilled me, I do not know why, save that I always
longed for the touch of a woman if badly hurt. But then I have
felt that way having the pain of neither lead nor steel. The voice
rang in the silent woods, but I could see no one nor any sign of
human habitation. Shortly I came out upon a smooth roadway
carpeted with sawdust. It led through a grove, and following it, I
came suddenly upon a big green mansion among the trees, with Doric
pillars and a great portico where hammocks hung with soft cushions
in them, and easy-chairs of old mahogany stood empty. I have said
as little as possible of my aching wound: I have always thought it
bad enough for one to suffer his own pain. But I must say I was
never so tried to keep my head above me as when I came to that
door. Two figures in white came out to meet me. At first I did
not observe--I had enough to do keeping my eyes open--that they
were the Mlles. de Lambert.
"God save us!" I heard one of them say. "He is hurt; he is pale.
See the blood running off his boot-leg."
Then, as one took the bit, the other eased me down from my saddle,
calling loudly for help. She took her handkerchief--that had a
perfume I have not yet forgotten--as she supported me, and wiped
the sweat and dust from my face. Then I saw they were the splendid
young ladies I had seen at the count's table. The discovery put
new life in me; it was like a dash of water in the face. I lifted
my hat and bowed to them.
"Ladies, my thanks to you," I said in as good French as I knew. "I
have been shot. May I ask you to send for a doctor?"
A butler ran down the steps; a gardener and a stable-boy hurried
out of the grove.
"To the big room--the Louis-Quinze," said one of the girls,
excitedly, as the men came to my help.
The fat butler went puffing upstairs, and they followed, on each
side of me.
"Go for a doctor, quick," said one of them to the gardener, who was
coming behind--a Frenchman who prayed to a saint as he saw my blood.
They led me across a great green rug in a large hall above-stairs
to a chamber of which I saw little then save its size and the
wealth of its appointments. The young ladies set me down, bidding
one to take off my boots, and sending another for hot water. They
asked me where I was hurt. Then they took off my blouse and
waistcoat.
"Mon Dieu!" said one to the other. "What can we do? Shall we cut
the shirt?"
"Certainly. Cut the shirt," said the other. "We must help him.
We cannot let him die."
"God forbid!" was the answer. "See the blood. Poor fellow! It is
terrible!"
They spoke very tenderly as they cut my shirt with scissors, and
bared my back, and washed my wound with warm water. I never felt a
touch so caressing as that of their light fingers, but, gods of
war! it did hurt me. The bathing done, they bound me big with
bandages and left the room until the butler had helped me into bed.
They came soon with spirits and bathed my face and hands. One
leaned over me, whispering, and asking what I would like to eat.
Directly a team of horses came prancing to the door.
"The colonel!" one of them whispered, listening.
"The colonel, upon my soul!" said the other, that sprightly
Louison, as she tiptoed to the window. They used to call her
"Tiptoes" at the Hermitage.
The colonel! I remembered she was none other than the Baroness de
Ferre; and thinking of her and of the grateful feeling of the
sheets of soft linen, I fell asleep.