Hugh had one glimpse of horsemen leaping the low wall; then he was guarding himself from the slashes of a Roundhead trooper, and only just saved his head. He gave the man back an undercut, when suddenly the fellow cast the sword from his hand. “I yield me, sir. Quarter!” he cried.
Hugh paused, and, glancing about him now, saw the battle was indeed over. Down in the road troopers in red sashes were guarding the way, and men of the same color were swarming up through the churchyard, but there was no resistance, save here and there where single conflicts were still contested to the end. Then Hugh spied Alan Gwyeth, picking himself up from the grass at the foot of the shattered wall, and he ran thither, just as the captain dragged to his feet the man with whom he had been grappling. It was Thomas Oldesworth, Hugh saw, with the dirt grimed into his coat and his face streaming blood; he stood unsteadily with one hand pressed to his side, but his lips were hard set as ever. “Take him within the church and look to him,” the captain bade Ridydale, and then there was no room for thought of the vanquished, for Captain Turner came riding comfortably up the slope and hailed them: “Good day to you, Captain Gwyeth. Is there enough of the troop left to pay us for posting hither to rescue you?”
“Rescue be hanged!” said the captain, ungraciously, as he stood wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “We could a held out three hours longer.”
“Vour hours und more,” put in the stolid Von Holzberg, and such of the troop as had gathered thither murmured a resentful assent.
“Well, well, I crave all your pardons for coming so inopportunely,” Turner answered dryly, and then: “So that lad of yours got through in safety? Better go look for Lieutenant Strangwayes, Master Gwyeth; I think he’s troubled about you. He has ridden on the trail of the rebels a piece.”
Hugh started down the slope, but, chancing to glance back, saw Michael Turner had dismounted, and he and Captain Gwyeth were embracing each other amicably. Then he went on down the sunny hillside, and across one mound saw a man lying motionless on his back, and down by the wall one who, pulling himself up on his elbow, called for water. But Hugh could give him no heed, for up the white, hot roadway he saw a squadron coming, and at its head a black horse that he knew. He scrambled up on the low wall and stood staring and meaning to call, but could not find voice till the black horse had shot out from the bulk of the squadron, and Dick Strangwayes had reined up by the wall. “Hugh! And safe?” he asked in a low tone.