Still, they swore and cut at me; and it was trying work.

A little delay might enable the other man to come to their help, or Mademoiselle, for all I knew, might shoot me with my own pistol.

I was unfeignedly glad when a lucky parade sent the masked man's sword flying across the road.

On that he pushed his horse recklessly at me, spurring it without mercy; but the animal, which I had several times touched, reared up instead, and threw him at the very moment that I wounded his companion a second time in the arm, and made him give back.
The scene was now changed.

The man in the mask staggered to his feet, and felt stupidly for a pistol.