red her face with both
hands and shivered. The messengers of death flew about the head of her
lover, but left him unharmed.

Vavel now moved nearer to the attacking foe, and himself made straight
for the leader. One of De Fervlans's lieutenants, however, a thick-set,
sun-browned Sicilian, met the count's assault. There was a little
sword-play, then Vavel struck his adversary's blade from his hand with a
force that sent it whizzing through the air, and with his left hand
thrust the Sicilian, who was reaching for his pistols, from the saddle.

Nor had Vavel's companions been idle the while. The first assault was a
success for the count's troop. De Fervlans now ordered a retreat. The
death-heads looked upon this as a victory, and eagerly pursued the
retreating foe. But the woman on the hill had already perceived that the
retreat was but a feint. She saw the demons crouching among the reeds in
the thicket, and guessed their intention.

"Vavel!" she shouted at the top of her voice, "Vavel, take care! Look to
your rear!"

She imagined that her lover would hear her amid the tumult of the fight.

But Vavel had ears and eyes only for what was in front of him. Nearer
and nearer he approached to the trap De Fervlans had laid for him. He
was in it! The trench was behind him now, and the demons in ambush were
preparing to spring upon their prey.

Katharina could look no longer. She ran down the hill, sprang on her
mule, and galloped after her lover.

De Fervlans's retreat was conducted in proper order, step by step, from
earth-clod to earth-clod.

Suddenly Katharina discovered that a mule was an obstinate beast. The
one she was riding stopped abruptly, and would not advance another step.
In vain she urged and coaxed. At last she sprang from the saddle, and on
foot made her way toward the scene of the fray.

At this moment the demons creeping steathily along the trench sprang
from their concealment, their bayonets ready for action. They were on
the point of firing a volley into the black backs of the Volons, when a
rattling fire in their own rear brought down half of them dead and
wounded. The uninjured on turning found themselves confronted by Satan
Laczi and his comrades, who, black and slimy from their passage through
the morass, sprang like tigers upon the foe.

"Strike for their heads!" commanded Satan Laczi, as, with sabers drawn,
the ex-robbers rushed upon the bewildered demons, who had at last met
their match.