We men of the cavalry think more of our horses than we do of our
friends and of our lovers. I wept! But then, in a sort of reaction to
cold brutality, I drew my revolver, pressed the muzzle into Siegfried’s
ear, closed my eyes, and fired. The noble body trembled for a brief
second; then it lay limp and relaxed under that shroud of bush and
cat-briar.
Coldly, mechanically, I returned my pistol to its place. Then I walked
away, up toward the top of the second hill, where I sat down on the
first stone I came to.
A quarter of an hour must have passed before I came really to myself
and thought of considering the plight in which I found myself.
It was not an enviable one! Here I was, on foot, well off any beaten
trail, virtually lost in the most lonesome waste of the mountains of
Provence. I had passed a deserted hut some four miles back on the road.
The battery on the Cap must be fully seven or eight miles further on
beyond the fork. And my duty it was to get there regardless of my
helplessness in that impenetrable thicket, from which twilight was
rapidly fading now, yielding to black night.