It came so quickly as to startle me.  I was wondering at the smile that curled his lips, when he sprang upon me, casting his arms around my waist, and twining one leg about mine.  The shock of this sudden and unexpected onset took me completely by surprise, and I gave back sharply, scarce realizing his purpose, till he had the under-hold, and sought to lift me for a throw.  ’T was my weight alone that saved me, together with the rare good fortune that I had been leaning upon my gun.

As the breath came back to me, we locked grimly in a fierce struggle for the mastery.  I had felt the straining grip of strong arms before, but De Croix surprised me,—­he was like steel, quick of motion as a wildcat, with many a cunning French wrestling trick that tried me sorely.  I heard a quick exclamation of surprise from the girl, a shout of delighted approval from Jordan, and then there was no sound but the harsh trampling of our feet and the heavy breathing.  De Croix’s effort was to lift me to his hip for a throw; mine, to press him backward by bodily strength.  Both of us were sadly hindered by the sliding sand on which we strove.  Twice I thought I had him, when my footing failed; and once he held me fairly uplifted from the ground, yet could not make the toss.  ’T was a wild grapple, for when we had exhausted all the tricks we knew, it came to be a sheer test of physical endurance.  Then, for the first time, I felt myself the master,—­though he was a man, that gay French dandy, and never did my ribs crack under the pressure of a stronger hand.  But I slowly pressed him back, inch by inch, struggling like a demon to the last, until I forced his shoulders to the sand.

For a moment he lay there, panting heavily; then the old frank and easy smile came upon his lips.

“Your hand, monsieur,” he said; “that is, if it yet retains sufficient strength to lift me.”

Upon his feet he brushed the sand from out his long hair, and bowed gallantly.

“I have done my very best, Mademoiselle.  ’Tis defeat, but not disgrace, for I have made your giant puff to win.  May I not hope it has won me restoration to your good graces?”

CHAPTER IX

IN SIGHT OF THE FLAG

It would have been impossible not to respond to his humor and good-nature, even had the girl been desirous of doing otherwise.  From the first I felt that she liked this reckless courtier, whose easy words and actions made me realize more deeply than ever my own heaviness of thought and wit.

As he stood there now, bowing low before her, his clothing awry and his long hair in disorder from our fierce contest, she smiled upon him graciously, and extended a hand that he was prompt enough to accept and hold.

“Surely,” she said mockingly, “no maid, even in the glorious days of chivalry, had ever more heroic figures to do battle for her honor.  I accept the amende, Monsieur, and henceforth enroll you as knight at my court.  Upon my word,” and she looked about at the desolate sand-heaps surrounding us, “’tis not much to boast of here; nor, in truth, is Dearborn greatly better.”