Slow as the progress had been in the daytime, it was slower now.
The heavy coach jolted over great lumps of rough stone, and bumped
into deep ruts, with a violence which would shake a modern vehicle
to pieces. Sometimes, where the road was peculiarly bad, the
lackeys would get down, light torches at the lanterns that hung
below the box, and show the way until the road improved.
They had ridden about six miles, when some distance ahead the sound
of pistol shots, followed by loud shouts, came sharply on the ear.
Rupert happened to be in front, and with the love of adventure
natural to his age, he set spurs to his horse and dashed forward,
not hearing, or at any rate not heeding, the shouts of his
grandfather. Colonel Holliday, finding that Rupert was fairly off,
bade the lackeys get down, and follow him at a run with their
pistols, and urged the coachman to drive on with all possible
speed. Rupert was not long in reaching the scene of action; and
hurried the more that he could hear the clinking of sword blades,
and knew that the resistance of those assailed had not ceased.
On arriving at the spot he saw, as he expected, a carriage standing
by the road. One or two figures lay stretched on the ground; the
driver lay back, a huddled mass, on his seat; a man held high a
torch with one hand, while with the other he was striving to
recharge a pistol. Four other men with swords were attacking a
gentleman who, with his back to the coach, was defending himself
calmly and valiantly.
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