Hugon Speaks his Mind

MacLean sprang up from the log, and, joining her, saw indeed two horsemen
galloping toward them, their heads bent and riding cloaks raised to shield
them from the whirlwind of dust, dead leaves, and broken twigs. He knew
Haward's powerful steed Mirza, but the other horse was strange.

The two rode fast. A moment, and they were splashing through the stream;
another, and the horses, startled by Audrey's cry and waving arms and by
the sudden and violent check on the part of their riders, were rearing and
curveting across the road. "What the devil!" cried one of the horsemen.
"Imp or sprite, or whatever you are, look out! Haward, your horse will
trample her!"

But Audrey, with her hand on Mirza's bridle, had no fears. Haward stared
at her in amazement. "Child, what are you doing here? Angus, you too!" as
the storekeeper advanced. "What rendezvous is this? Mirza, be quiet!"

Audrey left her warning to be spoken by MacLean. She was at peace, her
head against Mirza's neck, her eyes upon Haward's face, clear in the
flashing lightning. That gentleman heard the story with his usual
calmness; his companion first swore, and then laughed.

"Here's a Canterbury tale!" he cried. "Egad, Haward, are we to take this
skipping rope, vault it as though we were courtiers of Lilliput? Neither
of us is armed. I conceive that the longest way around will prove our
shortest way home."

"My dear Colonel, I want to speak with these two gentlemen."

"But at your leisure, my friend, at your leisure, and not in dying tones!
I like not what I hear of Monsieur Jean Hugon's pistols. Flank an ambush;
don't ride into it open-eyed."