The Road to Goltres

On July 14 Prosper left Wanmeeting at a gallop, in the driving rain.
There had been thunder and a change in the weather; the roads were
heavy and the brooks brimming; but by noon he was in the plain, and by
night at One Ash, a lonely dead tree as often gallows as not. There he
slept in his cloak. Next morning he was early in the saddle, and had
reached the fringe of Goltres Heath by breakfast time--if the hour
without the thing can be called by such a comfortable name.

He knew there was a cross-road somewhere near by from Goltres to
Hauterive Town. He should go warily, for if the first were invested
there must needs be communications with the base, which was Hauterive.
Sure enough, he had not seen the finger-post before he saw the pikes.
There were three mounted men there, one of whom had his face to the
north and was shading his eyes to spy over the heath. In a dozen more
strides (for he was at no pains to skulk from three troopers) a man
saw him, gave a shout and spurred over the heather. Prosper pulled his
horse into a gallop, resolved to bring things to a quick conclusion.
Spear in rest he came down on his fellow like a gale of wind.

The man swerved at the onset; Prosper rocketed into him; horse and man
went over in a heap. "Bungler," cried Prosper, and went on. The other
two faced him together standing. Prosper drove in between them, and
had one of them off at the cost of a snapt spear. He turned on the
other with his sword whirling round his head.