Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (epub read online books .txt) 📖

They rode on in this way for ten minutes. Suddenly two dark forms seemed to separate from the mass, advanced, grew in size, and as they loomed up larger and larger, assumed the appearance of two horsemen.

“Aha!” cried D’Artagnan, “they’re coming toward us.”

“So much the worse for them,” said Porthos.

“Who goes there?” cried a hoarse voice.

The three horsemen made no reply, stopped not, and all that was heard was the noise of swords drawn from the scabbards and the cocking of the pistols with which the two phantoms were armed.

“Bridle in mouth!” said D’Artagnan.

Porthos understood him and he and the lieutenant each drew with the left hand a pistol from their bolsters and cocked it in their turn.

“Who goes there?” was asked a second time. “Not a step forward, or you’re dead men.”

“Stuff!” cried Porthos, almost choked with dust and chewing his bridle as a horse chews his bit. “Stuff and nonsense; we have seen plenty of dead men in our time.”

Hearing these words, the two shadows blockaded the road and by the light of the stars might be seen the shining of their arms.

“Back!” shouted D’Artagnan, “or you are dead!”

Two shots were the reply to this threat; but the assailants attacked their foes with such velocity that in a moment they were upon them; a third pistol-shot was heard, aimed by D’Artagnan, and one of his adversaries fell. As for Porthos, he assaulted the foe with such violence that, although his sword was thrust aside, the enemy was thrown off his horse and fell about ten steps from it.

“Finish, Mouston, finish the work!” cried Porthos. And he darted on beside his friend, who had already begun a fresh pursuit.

“Well?” said Porthos.

“I’ve broken my man’s skull,” cried D’Artagnan. “And you----”

“I’ve only thrown the fellow down, but hark!”

Another shot of a carbine was heard. It was Mousqueton, who was obeying his master’s command.

“On! on!” cried D’Artagnan; “all goes well! we have the first throw.”

“Ha! ha!” answered Porthos, “behold, other players appear.”

And in fact, two other cavaliers made their appearance, detached, as it seemed, from the principal group; they again disputed the road.

This time the lieutenant did not wait for the opposite party to speak.

“Stand aside!” he cried; “stand off the road!”

“What do you want?” asked a voice.

“The duke!” Porthos and D’Artagnan roared out both at once.

A burst of laughter was the answer, but finished with a groan. D’Artagnan had, with his sword, cut in two the poor wretch who had laughed.

At the same time Porthos and his adversary fired on each other and D’Artagnan turned to him.

“Bravo! you’ve killed him, I think.”

“No, wounded his horse only.”

“What would you have, my dear fellow? One doesn’t hit the bull’s-eye every time; it is something to hit inside the ring. Ho! parbleau! what is the matter with my horse?”

“Your horse is falling,” said Porthos, reining in his own.

In truth, the lieutenant’s horse stumbled and fell on his knees; then a rattling in his throat was heard and he lay down to die. He had received in the chest the bullet of D’Artagnan’s first adversary. D’Artagnan swore loud enough to be heard in the skies.

“Does your honor want a horse?” asked Mousqueton.

“Zounds! want one!” cried the Gascon.

“Here’s one, your honor----”

“How the devil hast thou two horses?” asked D’Artagnan, jumping on one of them.

“Their masters are dead! I thought they might be useful, so I took them.”

Meantime Porthos had reloaded his pistols.

“Be on the qui vive!” cried D’Artagnan. “Here are two other cavaliers.”

As he spoke, two horsemen advanced at full speed.

“Ho! your honor!” cried Mousqueton, “the man you upset is getting up.”

“Why didn’t thou do as thou didst to the first man?” said Porthos.

“I held the horses, my hands were full, your honor.”

A shot was fired that moment; Mousqueton shrieked with pain.

“Ah, sir! I’m hit in the other side! exactly opposite the other! This hurt is just the fellow of the one I had on the road to Amiens.”

Porthos turned around like a lion, plunged on the dismounted cavalier, who tried to draw his sword; but before it was out of the scabbard, Porthos, with the hilt of his had struck him such a terrible blow on the head that he fell like an ox beneath the butcher’s knife.

Mousqueton, groaning, slipped from his horse, his wound not allowing him to keep the saddle.

On perceiving the cavaliers, D’Artagnan had stopped and charged his pistol afresh; besides, his horse, he found, had a carbine on the bow of the saddle.

“Here I am!” exclaimed Porthos. “Shall we wait, or shall we charge?”

“Let us charge them,” answered the Gascon.

“Charge!” cried Porthos.

They spurred on their horses; the other cavaliers were only twenty steps from them.

“For the king!” cried D’Artagnan.

“The king has no authority here!” answered a deep voice, which seemed to proceed from a cloud, so enveloped was the cavalier in a whirlwind of dust.

“‘Tis well, we will see if the king’s name is not a passport everywhere,” replied the Gascon.

“See!” answered the voice.

Two shots were fired at once, one by D’Artagnan, the other by the adversary of Porthos. D’Artagnan’s ball took off his enemy’s hat. The ball fired by Porthos’s foe went through the throat of his horse, which fell, groaning.

“For the last time, where are you going?”

“To the devil!” answered D’Artagnan.

“Good! you may be easy, then--you’ll get there.”

D’Artagnan then saw a musket-barrel leveled at him; he had no time to draw from his holsters. He recalled a bit of advice which Athos had once given him, and made his horse rear.

The ball struck the animal full in front. D’Artagnan felt his horse giving way under him and with his wonderful agility threw himself to one side.

“Ah! this,” cried the voice, the tone of which was at once polished and jeering, “this is nothing but a butchery of horses and not a combat between men. To the sword, sir! the sword!”

And he jumped off his horse.

“To the swords! be it so!” replied D’Artagnan; “that is exactly what I want.”

D’Artagnan, in two steps, was engaged with the foe, whom, according to custom, he attacked impetuously, but he met this time with a skill and a strength of arm that gave him pause. Twice he was obliged to step back; his opponent stirred not one inch. D’Artagnan returned and again attacked him.

Twice or thrice thrusts were attempted on both sides, without effect; sparks were emitted from the swords like water spouting