“Draw level, monsieur.  Now!” and the next instant we were dashing down the remaining part of the slope at terrific speed.

It was a wild ride, a ride so mad that many a night afterwards I started from sleep with the sensation of being hurled through space.  The horses flew, their hoofs seeming not to touch the ground; had we wished, we should have found it impossible to check their headlong career.  Nearer and nearer we approached; the horsemen wavered visibly, their leader alone remaining unmoved.

There was a loud report; a ball whizzed past, and we heard a cry of “In the king’s name!”

For answer we discharged our pistols almost at point-blank distance, and a horse rolled over heavily with its rider.

“One down!” cried Jacques in triumph, drawing his sword and aiming a desperate blow at the leader, who called out—­“The boy!  Capture the boy!  Shoot his horse, you dolts!”

He thrust at me vigorously, but, parrying the attack more by luck than good management, I dashed on, Jacques crying, “This way, monsieur, quick!”

With a tremendous leap we sprang into the river, the poor animals struggling franticly to keep their footing.

“This way!” shouted Jacques, “we are too far to the right; the ford lies here.  Forward, forward!  Use your spurs; they are after us.  To the front; I will hold them at bay!”

“No, no; we will stand by each other.”

“Nonsense!” he cried, “remember the packet!” and, having no answer to that, I pushed forward, though with reluctance.

It was a wild scramble, now swimming, now wading, stumbling, and floundering along with the yells of the pursuers in our ears.  I reached the opposite bank, and while my gallant animal clambered up, Jacques turned to face the enemy.  Almost immediately there came the clash of swords, and, looking back, I saw him engaged in desperate conflict with the foremost of the pursuers.

The contest was short.  With a howl of pain the fellow dropped his sword, and the water reddened with his blood.

“Spread out!” cried the cavalier angrily, “’tis the boy we want!” and at that, Jacques being powerless to prevent them from slipping past, rode after me.

“Only three to two now!” he exclaimed joyfully; “shall we stop?  It will be a good fight.”

“No, no, we may get away; we are the better mounted.”

“I do not think so, monsieur; their horses are the fresher.”

Once again Jacques proved correct.  The three men, the cavalier leading, hung stubbornly on our track, and began steadily to ride us down.

“If we could reach a village,” I gasped, “the people might be for us!”

“Or against us, monsieur.”

On we went across the open stretch of upland, the pace becoming perceptibly slower, the pursuers approaching steadily nearer.  Below us, white and dusty in the sunlight, wound a broad road, with a high bank on one side of it.