At their approach the animal neighed, and Garin, hearing the sound, reined in and peered forward into the gloom, to descry the horse's head and back outlined above the blur of the hedge. His men halted behind him whilst he approached the riderless beast and made--as well as he could in the darkness--an examination of the saddle. One holster he found empty, at which he concluded that the rider, whoever he had been, had met with trouble; from the other he drew a heavy pistol, which, however, gave him no clue. “Get down,” he ordered his men, “and search the roads hereabouts. I'll wager a horse to a horseshoe that you will find a body somewhere.” He was obeyed, and presently a cry from one of the searchers announced a discovery. It was succeeded by another exclamation. “Sacre nom!” swore the trooper. “It is the Citizen-deputy!” In an instant Garin had leapt to the ground and with the others crowding about him, their bridles over their arms and their horses in a bunch behind them, he was bending under the dripping hedge to examine the body that lay supine in the sodden road. A vigorous oath escaped him when he assured himself that it was indeed La Boulaye. “Is he dead?” cried the men in chorus. “No--not dead” grumbled the corporal. “But there is a lump on his brow the size of an egg, and God knows how long he has been lying here in this bed of mud.” They had no restoratives, and the only thing was to convey him to the nearest habitation and demand shelter. They held a short council on the matter, and in the end Garin bade four of them take him up and carry him in a cloak. Some two miles back they had passed a house, and thither the corporal now bade them retrace their steps. They made an odd procession; first went two mounted troopers leading the horses of the others, then the four on foot, carrying the Deputy in a cloak, and lastly, Garin riding in the rear. In this manner they went back along the dark road, and for close upon a half-hour--for their progress was slow--they trudged along in silence. At last there was a short exclamation from one of the riders, as half a mile away an illuminated window beamed invitingly. Encouraged by it, they quickened their steps a little. But almost at the same time La Boulaye stirred on the cloak, and the men who carried him heard him speak. At first it was an incoherent mutter, then his words came more distinctly. “Hold! Where are you carrying me? Who the devil are you?” It was Garin's voice that came instantly to reassure him. Caron essayed to sit up, but finding it impracticable, he shortly bade his men set him down. They halted. Garin dismounted and came to the Deputy's side, and it was found that his condition was none so grave after all, for he was able to stand unaided. When, however, he attempted to walk, he reeled, and would of a certainty have fallen, but that Garin put out his arm to support him. “Steady there, Citizen,” the corporal admonished him. “Get my horse!” he commanded briefly.