disengaged himself from the fallen animal.

"Look to yourself, monsieur," he said, "I still count."

I had only a momentary glimpse of him as he staggered to his feet, but
the sight was not encouraging. His face was covered with blood, his left
arm hung limply at his side, and he had received a wound in the
shoulder. But in spite of his injuries he faced his opponent boldly,
using his horse's body as some sort of protection.

"Yield!" cried the cavalier, "and I will spare your lives. You are brave
fellows."

"Fight on, monsieur," said Jacques stolidly.

"As you will," exclaimed the other, and once more the clash of steel
broke on the air.

How would it end? The contest was going steadily against us. I could
easily hold my opponent in check, but Jacques was seriously wounded; he
was on foot, and must inevitably be beaten. I thought once of riding off
in the hope of drawing the others after me, but they might stop to kill
my comrade, and that I dared not risk.

He still fought with his accustomed skill, but he was becoming weaker
every minute; he could no longer attack, and had much ado to defend
himself. Our sole chance lay in disabling my opponent before Jacques was
over-powered. I rode at him recklessly, but he was a wary knave, and,
judging how matters were likely to go, he remained on the defensive.