im before now, and I shall see
that he has justice. Let us cast these reins round the fellow's neck
and hang him upon this tree."

Several pairs of hands were already unbuckling the harness of the dead
horse, when De Vivonne pushed his way into the little group, and with a
few curt words checked their intended violence.

"It is as much as your lives are worth to touch him," said he.

"But he has slain Etienne Arnaud."

"That score may be settled afterwards. To-night he is the king's
messenger. Is the other all safe?"

"Yes, he is here."

"Tie this man, and put him in beside him. Unbuckle the traces of the
dead horse. So! Now, De Carnac, put your own into the harness.
You can mount the box and drive, for we have not very far to go."

The changes were rapidly made; Amos Green was thrust in beside De
Catinat, and the carriage was soon toiling up the steep incline which it
had come down so precipitately. The American had said not a word since
his capture, and had remained absolutely stolid, with his hands crossed
over his chest whilst his fate was under discussion. Now that he was
alone once more with his comrade, however, he frowned and muttered like
a man who feels that fortune has used him badly.

"Those infernal horses!" he grumbled. "Why, an American horse would
have taken to the water like a duck. Many a time have I swum my old
stallion Sagamore across the Hudson. Once over the river, we should
have had a clear lead to Paris."

"My dear friend," cried De Catinat, laying his manacled hands upon those
of his comrade, "can you forgive me for speaking as I did upon the way
from Versailles?"

"Tut, man! I never gave it a thought."

"You were right a thousand times, and I was, as you said, a fool--a
blind, obstinate fool. How nobly you have stood by me! But how came
you there? Never in my life have I been so astonished as when I saw
your face."

Amos Green chuckled to himself. "I thought that maybe it would be a
surprise to you if you knew who was driving you," said he. "When I was
thrown from my horse I lay quiet, partly because I wanted to get a grip
of my breath, and partly because it seemed to me to be more healthy to
lie than to stand with all those swords clinking in my ears. Then they
all got round you, and I rolled into the ditch, crept along it, got on
the cross-road in the shadow of the trees, and was beside the carriage
before ever they knew that I was gone. I saw in a flash that