ed!"

"Yes, count, but we have the Rehberg almost behind us, and they must go
through it. We have a good start. They will not overtake us."

"Forward, my friends, forward!"

They put spurs to their horses, they press their knees into their flanks,
and the animals struggle faster through the sand. In spite of every
hindrance they have now reached firmer ground and bound bravely forward.
But the noise behind them has not ceased, not even become more remote.
They must have good steeds, those pursuers, for they seem to come nearer
and nearer.

"Friends, better die than fall into the hands of the enemy!" shouts the
count. "I tell you the very moment Burgsdorf touches me I shall shoot
myself. Greet my friends for me. Bid them farewell forever!"

"You will not shoot yourself, count, for the enemy will not overtake us.
Forward! Put spur to your horses. Heigh! Huzza! Forward!"

They rush through the darkness!

Clouds dark and threatening course swiftly through the sky, horsemen dark
and threatening course swiftly over the earth.

"Waldow! they come nearer! But we have still the start of them!"

"Only see, count! That dark mass there against the sky. That is our goal.
Just one quarter of an hour and we shall be safe in Spandow."

"One quarter of an hour! An eternity! Heigh! Huzza! On! on!"

"Halt!" is heard behind them. "Halt! in the name of the Elector, in the
name of the law! Halt! halt!"

"That is Burgsdorf's voice!" cries Count Schwarzenberg, and spurs his
horse with such violence that it rears and then shoots forward, swift as
an arrow from a bow. But the pursuers, too, dash forward, as if borne upon
the wings of the wind, and the distance between them constantly grows
less. Already they hear the horses pant; ever clearer, ever more distinct
become the passionate outcries of Colonel Burgsdorf.

He swears, he threatens, he rages! He orders the fugitives to halt, and
swears to shoot them if they do not.

What care they for threats or orders? Forward! forward! Behind them sounds
a shot--a second, then a third! The balls whistle past their ears, and
they laugh aloud, to prove to the enemy that they are still alive.

Before them flash lights, like golden stars, like bonfires of rejoicing.

"Count, those are the lights of Spandow! Just see those torches there! The
commandant is waiting for you at the entrance to the fort with his
torchbearers."

"On! on!" shout the three, and they race onward at lightning speed.