It was clear the enemy was uncertain as to their intentions, for immediately Macpherson had put his horse in motion, they drew up short and halted. But still the little troop kept on steadily, riding two abreast along the narrow road, and holding their carbines in readiness to fire. The young officer on the grey charger had thrown off his scarlet cloak, and was giving directions to his men with the point of his sword. Several of the troopers had dismounted and lined the roadside where a fence of loose stones presented a sort of low screen, or parapet. And now barely a hundred yards divided the combatants. Already a shot or two had been fired, but as they came within range the dragoons, without waiting for further orders, fired wildly. Gervase, who rode in advance, turned to see if any of the men behind him had been struck; not a man moved in his saddle. Then Macpherson rose in his stirrups and shouted in a voice of thunder---- “Now, my gallant fellows, fire! Aim at the horses and let every shot tell.” For an instant, as it seemed, the little troop stood fast, and orderly as on parade, took aim and fired. Several horses went down, and for a minute all was confusion and disorder in the royal ranks. That minute was the turning tide of battle. With a wild shout and a deep oath, Macpherson waved his sword above his head and gave the charge. Instinctively Gervase drove his spurs into his horse´s flanks, and grasped the hilt of his sword with a tighter clutch. In another moment he was in the middle of the red-coats and almost without knowing how it was done, he saw his blade buried in the body of the dragoon who had first encountered him. As in a dream he saw the man catch convulsively at the horse´s mane and fall in a heap to the ground. Macpherson was at his side, hammering on sword and head-piece. His voice could be heard above the clank and clash of steel and the shouts of the fighting men. “No quarter to the men of Belial. Strike home for the true religion. God´s wounds! you must have it.” Two troopers had thrown themselves across his path; one he had charged so violently that his horse had stumbled and gone down, crushing his rider; the other parried his thrust and then turned to flee. But his doom was on him. Down came the deadly steel on the iron head-piece. Nothing could withstand that blow, but the sword was shivered at the hilt. “The curse of Heaven light on the hand that fashioned thee!” cried Macpherson, hurling the hilt from him and drawing his pistol from the holster. His men followed close upon his heels, hacking and hewing with their heavy swords. No man failed in his duty that day. Gervase saw the young officer before him gallantly striving to rally his men, and imploring them to stand. Quick as thought their swords were crossed, and Gervase saw his eyes light up with inexpressible hate. “Ah! canaille,” he cried, “you will see at least how a gentleman can fight.”