irsty as a man in a fever," said Horse Shoe. "He
drinks as if he was laying in for a week. Now, major, since we are here
in the river, look up the stream. Don't you see, from the image in the
water, that there's a fire on the bank? And there, by my soul! there are
men on horseback. Look towards the light. Spur, and out on the other
side! Quick--quick--they are upon us!"

At the same instant that Horse Shoe spoke, a bullet whistled close by
his ear; and, in the next, six or eight men galloped into the river,
from different points. This was succeeded by a sharp report of fire-arms
from both parties, and the vigorous charge of Robinson, followed by
Butler, through the array of the assailants. They gained the opposite
bank, and now directed all their efforts to outrun their pursuers; but
in the very crisis of their escape, Butler's horse, bounding under the
prick of the spur, staggered a few paces from the river and fell dead. A
bullet had lodged in a vital part, and the energy of the brave steed was
spent in the effort to bear his master through the stream. Butler fell
beneath the stricken animal, from whence he was unable to extricate
himself. The sergeant, seeing his comrade's condition, sprang from his
horse and ran to his assistance, and, in the same interval, the ruffian
followers gained the spot and surrounded their prisoners. An ineffectual
struggle ensued over the prostrate horse and rider, in which Robinson
bore down more than one of his adversaries, but was obliged, at last, to
yield to the overwhelming power that pressed upon him.

"Bury your swords in both of them to the hilts!" shouted Habershaw; "I
don't want to have that work to do to-morrow."

"Stand off!" cried Gideon Blake, as two or three of the gang sprang
forward to execute their captain's order; "stand off! the man is on his
back, and he shall not be murdered in cold blood;" and the speaker took
a position near Butler, prepared to make good his resolve. The spirit
of Blake had its desired effect, and the same assailants now turned upon
Robinson.

"Hold!" cried Peppercorn, throwing up his sword and warding off the
blows that were aimed by these men at the body of the sergeant. "Hold,
you knaves! this is my prisoner. I will deal with him to my liking.
Would a dozen of you strike one man when he has surrendered? Back, ye
cowards; leave him to me. How now, old Horse Shoe; are you caught, with
your gay master here? Come, come, we know you both. So yield