Above the fierce beating of his heart, the throbbing intake of his
breath, he heard sounds which were not of the wind or the sea. He
ran on, and suddenly the cliff dropped from under his feet, and he
found himself on the edge of a great rift in the wall of rock,
looking across upon a strange scene. In the brilliant moonlight,
with his back against a rock, stood Pierre, his glistening rapier
in his hand, his thin, lithe body bent for the attack of three men
who faced him. It was but a moment's tableau. The men rushed in.
Muffled cries, blows, a single clash of steel, and Pierre's voice
rose above the sound of conflict. "For the love of God, give me
help, M'sieur!" He had seen Philip rush up to the edge of the
break in the cliff, and as he fought he cried out again.
"Shoot, M'sieur! In a moment it will be too late!"
Philip had drawn his heavy revolver. He watched for an
opportunity. The men were fighting now so that Pierre had been
forced between his assailants and the breach in the wall. There
was no chance to fire without hitting him.
"Run, Pierre!" shouted Philip. "Run--"
He fired once, over the heads of the fighters, and as Pierre
suddenly darted to one side in obedience to his command there came
for the first time a shot from the other side.
Pages:
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118