But at that moment both doors of the coach were flung open, and out of each sprang a man with a pistol in the left hand and a sword in the right. These were followed by others, and before the astonished garrison realized the situation, six fully armed men were among them, and one, a tall, dark, lissom young fellow, all fire and energy, was calling on them to surrender. A few, cowed by the pistols pointed within a foot of their heads, and taken utterly aback by this astounding change of scene, flung down their carbines from sheer inability to think; but the more nimble-witted, and those on the outskirts of the little group, scurried away, under cover of their comrades, out of range, unslinging their carbines and drawing their swords as they ran. Meanwhile the foremost postilion, in obedience to orders previously given by Harry, whipped up his horses and drove them at a gallop round the courtyard, narrowly escaping a bullet from the carbine of one of the garrison, until he came opposite the gateway, where he drew up so as to present the side of the coach to the opening, and cut the traces. The garrison, having by this time perceived by how small a body they were confronted, came forward in a compact mass against the little band. Carbines cracked, pistols flashed, steel rang on steel, and with shouts and oaths the two bands engaged. Harry was not in this mellay, for in the confusion he had slipped away and rushed through the archway, just in time to see the sentry striving with might and main to hurl the planks of the bridge into the fosse. He had caught sight of eleven dragoons in Austrian uniform galloping up from the valley half a mile away. The man turned as he heard Harry’s approach, snatched up his sword, which he had dropped for his work with the planks, and threw himself into his guard in the nick of time to meet the attack. Harry felt that it was not a moment for fine sword-play; the man was a burly fellow, clumsy, and to appearance dull of wits. Running a risk which would be fatal if his opponent were a keen swordsman, Harry gave him an opening. It was instantly accepted, but the thrust was parried with lightning rapidity, and before the man could recover himself Harry’s sword had ploughed a deep furrow in his forearm, and with a yell of pain he let his own weapon fall to the ground. Stepping back at the same moment with the instinct of self-preservation, he tumbled headlong into the fosse.