"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 there was only one way by which I could be of use to you. The coachman was leaning round with his head turned to see what was going on behind him. I out with my knife, sprang up on the front wheel, and stopped his tongue forever."
"What! without a sound!"
"I have not lived among the Indians for nothing."
"And then?"
"I pulled him down into the ditch, and I got into his coat and his hat. I did not scalp him."
"Scalp him? Great heavens! Such things are only done among savages."
"Ah! I thought that maybe it was not the custom of the country. I am glad now that I did not do it. I had hardly got the reins before they were all back and bundled you into the coach. I was not afraid of their seeing me, but I was scared lest I should not know which road to take, and so set them on the trail. But they made it easy to me by sending some of their riders in front, so I did well until I saw that by-track and made a run for it. We'd have got away, too, if that rogue hadn't shot the horse, and if the beasts had faced the water."
The guardsman again pressed his comrade's hands. "You have been as true to me as hilt to blade," said he. "It was a bold thought and a bold deed."
"And what now?" asked the American.
"I do not know who these men are, and I do not know whither they are taking us."
"To their villages, likely, to burn us."
De Catinat laughed in spite of his anxiety. "You will have it that we are back in America again," said he. "They don't do things in that way in France."
"They seem free enough with hanging in France. I tell you, I felt like a smoked-out 'coon when that trace was round my neck."
"I fancy that they are taking us to some place where they can shut us up until this business blows over."
"Well, they'll need to be smart about it."
"Why?"
"Else maybe they won't find us when they want us."
"What do you mean?"
For answer, the American, with a twist and a wriggle, drew his two hands apart, and held them in front of his comrade's face.