I accordingly gathered it carefully up, and was returning towards my friend, when what was my horror to hear Mike's voice, conversing, as it seemed to me, with some one in French.
I stood fixed to the spot, my very heart beating almost in my mouth as I listened.
"_Qui etes-vous done, mon ami ?_" inquired a hoarse, deep voice, a few yards off.
"_Bon cheval, non_ beast, _sacre nom de Dieu!_" A hearty burst of laughter prevented my hearing the conclusion of Mike's French.
I now crept forward upon my hands and knees, till I could catch the dark outline of the horses, one hand fixed upon my pistol trigger, and my sword drawn in the other.

Meanwhile the dialogue continued.
"_Vous etes d'Alsace, n'est-ce-pas ?_" asked the Frenchman, kindly supposing that Mike's French savored of Strasburg.
"Oh, blessed Virgin! av I might shoot him," was the muttered reply.
Before I had time to see the effect of the last speech, I pressed forward with a bold spring, and felled the Frenchman to the earth.

My hand had scarcely pressed upon his mouth, when Hampden was beside me.

Snatching up the pistol I let fall, he held it to the man's chest and commanded him to be silent.

To unfasten his girdle and bind the Frenchman's hands behind him, was the work of a moment; and as the sharp click of the pistol-cock seemed to calm his efforts to escape, we soon succeeded in fastening a handkerchief tight across his mouth, and the next minute he was placed behind Mike's saddle, firmly attached to this worthy individual by his sword-belt.
"Now, a clear run home for it, and a fair start," said Hampden, as he sprang into the saddle.
"Now, then, for it," I replied, as turning my horse's head towards our lines, I dashed madly forward.
The moon was again obscured, but still the dark outline of the hill which formed our encampment was discernible on the horizon.