Thirteen at Table | Page 5

reached the bridge, the horse backed, and no spurring could
induce him to cross. Imre at last pressed his knee angrily against the
trembling animal, striking him at the same time across the neck with
the bridle, on which the horse suddenly cleared the chasm at one bound
and then again turned and began to back.
At that instant a fearful cry arose from beneath, which was echoed from
the rocks around, and ten or fifteen savage-looking beings climbed
from under the bridge, with lances formed of upright scythes.
Even then there would have been time for the horseman to turn back,
and dash through a handful of men behind him, but either he was
ashamed of turning from the first conflict, or he was desirous, at any
risk, to reach Kolozsv‡r at the appointed time, and instead of retreating
by the bridge, he galloped towards the other end of the pass, where the
enemy rushed upon him from every side, yelling hideously.
"Back, Wallachian dogs!" cried Imre, cutting two of them down, while
several others sprang forward with the scythes.
Two shots whistled by, and Imre, letting go the bridle, cut right and left,
his sword gleaming rapidly among the awkward weapons; and taking
advantage of a moment in which the enemy's charge began to slacken,
he suddenly dashed through the crowd towards the outlet of the rock,
without perceiving that another party awaited him above the rocks with
great stones, with which they prepared to crush him as he passed.
He was only a few paces from the spot, when a gigantic figure, armed
with a short broad-axe, and with a Roman helmet on his head,
descended from the rock in front of him, and seizing the reins of the
horse forced him to halt. The young man aimed a blow at his enemy's
head, and the helmet fell back, cut through the middle, but the force of
the blow had broken his sword in two; and the horse lifted by his giant
foe, reared, so that the rider, losing his balance, was thrown against the
side of the rock, and fell senseless to the ground.

At the same instant a shot was fired toward them from the top of the
rock.
"Who fired there?" cried the giant, in a voice of thunder. The
bloodthirsty Wallachians would have rushed madly on their defenseless
prey, had not the giant stood between him and them.
"Who fired on me?" he sternly exclaimed. The Wallachians stood back
in terror.
"It was not on you, Decurio, that I fired, but on the hussar," stammered
out one of the men, on whom the giant had fixed his eye.
"You lie, traitor! Your ball struck my armor, and had I not worn a shirt
of mail, it would have pierced my heart."
The man turned deadly pale, trembling from head to foot. "My enemies
have paid you to murder me?" The savage tried to speak, but words
died upon his lips.
"Hang him instantly--he is a traitor!"
The rest of the gang immediately seized the culprit and carried him to
the nearest tree, from whence his shrieks soon testified that his sentence
was being put in execution.
The Decurio remained alone with the young man; and hastily lifting
him, still senseless, from the ground, he mounted his horse, and placing
him before him ere the savage horde had returned, he had galloped
some distance along the road from whence the youth had come,
covering him with his mantle as he passed the bridge, to conceal him
from several of the gang who stood there, and exclaiming, "Follow me
to the Tapanfalva."
As soon as they were out of sight, he suddenly turned to the left, down
a steep, hilly path, and struck into the depth of the forest.
The morning sun had just shot its first beams across the hills, tinting

with golden hue the reddening autumn leaves, when the young hussar
began to move in his fevered dreams, and murmured the name
"Jol‡nka."
In a few moments he opened his eyes. He was lying in a small chamber,
through the only window of which the sunbeams shone upon his face.
The bed on which he lay was made of lime-boughs, simply woven
together, and covered with wolves' skins. A gigantic form was leaning
against the foot of the bed with his arms folded, and as the young man
awoke, he turned round. It was the Decurio.
"Where am I?" asked the young man, vaguely endeavoring to recall the
events of the past night.
"In my house," replied Decurio.
"And who are you?"
"I am Numa, Decurio of the Roumin Legion, your foe in battle, but
now your host and protector."
"And why did you save me from your men?" asked the young man,
after a