It was quivering from fright. There was a gash
on its neck, and it was bleeding and turning the white flakes of sweat
into a murky crimson.
"Good Lord!" I ejaculated. "It's one of the cavalry horses. Hillars
or the innkeeper has been hurt."
I was of the mind to mount the animal and go in search of them, when
Stahlberg, who had come to my assistance, said that I had best wait. A
quarter of an hour passed. Then we could see another horse, perhaps
half a mile away, coming toward the inn at a canter. From what I could
see in the pale light, the horse carried a double burden. A sheet of
ice seemed to fall on my heart. What had happened? Had Dan and the
Prince come to blows? Alas, I could have cried out in anguish at the
sight which finally met my gaze. The innkeeper held the reins, and,
propped up in front of him, was Hillars, to all appearances dead.
"Gott!" cried the innkeeper, discovering me, "but I am glad to see you,
Herr. Your friend has been hurt, badly, badly."
"My God!" I cried. The hand and wrist of the innkeeper which encircled
Hillars were drenched in blood.
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