“I killed his horse,” he said, in response to queries, “but he fled into the woods where I could not follow. A bad night for us, Carl, a bad night,” swinging off his horse. “A boy would have done better work. Whom have we here?”
“Kopf,” said Maurice, “and he has a ball somewhere inside,” holding up a bloody hand.
“Kopf?” Scharfenstein cocked his revolver.
The maid of honor placed her hands over her ears and screamed again. Max gazed at her, and, with a short, Homeric laugh, lowered the revolver.
“Any time will do,” he said. “Ah, he opens his eyes.”
The prisoner's eyes rolled wildly about. That frowning face above him... was it a vision? Who was it? What was he doing here?
“Who put you up to this?” demanded Maurice.
Scharfenstein and von Mitter looked at each other comprehensively.
Maurice withdrew his knees. “Beauvais; who is he?”
“Prince... Walmoden, formerly of the emperor's staff.”
Johann's eyes closed again, and his head fell to one side.
“He looks as if he were done for,” said Maurice, standing up. “Let us clear up the rubbish and hitch a horse to the carriage. The mate's all right.”
Von Mitter assisted the maid into the carriage and seated her.
“Go and stay with her,” said Maurice, brusquely; “you're half fainting.”
“You are very handy, Carewe,” said von Mitter gratefully, and he climbed in beside the maid, who, her fright gone, gave way to womanly instincts. She took her kerchief and wiped the Lieutenant's cheek, pressing his hand in hers the while.
Maurice and Scharfenstein worked away at the traces, and dragged the dead horse to the side of the road. Scharfenstein brought around von Mitter's horse, took oft the furnishings, and backed him into the pole.
Meanwhile the man lying by the water's edge showed signs of returning life. He turned his head cautiously. His enemies were a dozen yards away from him. Slowly he rolled over on his stomach, thence to his knees. They were paying no attention to him....
“Ho, there! the prisoner!” cried von Mitter, tumbling out of the carriage. He tried to stand up, but a numbness seized his legs, and he sank to a sitting posture.
Maurice and Scharfenstein turned too late. Johann had mounted on Scharfenstein's horse, and was flying away down the road. Maurice coolly leveled his revolver and sent two bullets after him. The second one caused Johann to straighten stiffly, then to sink; but he hung on to the horse.