Then they mounted the postilions and the civilians on
the spare horses, hastily threw open the gates and the whole band rushed
into the courtyard.
A sharp volley poured in upon them from every side; some of them were
wounded, but none mortally, for their assailants either fired from afar
or aimed badly. And this was well, for every dead man among them would
have been worth 100,000 guldens.
Fatia Negra and his horsemen stood close at hand with their loaded
muskets pointed in their hands, but they did not fire.
"Let the lancers run if they like!" cried Fatia Negra. "Give all your
attention to the wagons!"
The cavalry soon escaped from the mob of sharpshooters, leaped over the
barriers and began galloping rapidly back to Szeb safe and sound. And
they had need to haste, for it was easy to foresee that as soon as the
cry of victory behind their backs had changed into a cry of fury, it
would be a sign that Fatia Negra's band was rushing after them.
And, indeed, scarce a quarter of an hour had elapsed, when they could
perceive clouds of dust whirling up behind them which proved that the
audacious adventurers, after discovering the fraud, were actually in
pursuit.
What unheard of audacity! In broad daylight, on the King's highway,
within the borders of a highly civilized, well-organized state, a troop
of adventurers dares to attack an equal number of trained soldiers.
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