Maurice now began to show the true state of his temper by cursing his horse whenever it rubbed against one of its fellows.

His back was lame, and there was a dull pain in one of his shoulders.

When he had made the rush for the door, clubbing right and left with the empty revolvers, he had finally been thrown on an overturned chair.
"Here, hang you!" he said to the trooper who held the bridle of his horse, "I'm cold; you might at least turn up my collar about my throat." "You are welcome to my cloak," said the trooper, disengaging that article from his shoulders.
"Thank you," said Maurice, somewhat abashed by the respectful tone.
The trooper offered his blanket to Fitzgerald.
"I wish no favors," said the Englishman, thanklessly.
The trooper shrugged, and caught up Maurice's bridle.
At length the troop arrived at the frontier.

There was no sign of life at the barrack.

They passed unchallenged.
"What!" exclaimed Maurice, "do they sleep here at night, then?
A fine frontier barrack." He had lived in hopes of more disturbance and a possible chance for liberty.
"They will wake up to-day," answered the Colonel; "that is, if the wine we gave them was not too strong.