They saw each other's faces plainly in the clear moonlight, and at breathless pauses in the struggle their eyes maintained the state of war.
At one instant, when both men lay with arms interlocked, half-lying on their thighs, Oscar hissed in the giant's ear: "You are a Servian: it is an ugly race." And the Servian cursed him in a fierce growl.
"We expected you; you are a bad hand with the knife," grunted Oscar, and feeling the bellows-like chest beside him expand, as though in preparation for a renewal of the fight, he suddenly wrenched himself free of the Servian's grasp, leaped away a dozen paces to the shelter of a great pine, and turned, revolver in hand.
"Throw up your hands," he yelled.
The Servian fired without pausing for aim, the shot ringing out sharply through the wood.

Then Oscar discharged his revolver three times in quick succession, and while the discharges were still keen on the air he drew quickly back to a clump of underbrush, and crept away a dozen yards to watch events.

The Servian, with his eyes fixed upon the tree behind which his adversary had sought shelter, grew anxious, and thrust his head forward warily.
Then he heard a sound as of some one running through the wood to the left and behind him, but still the man he had grappled on the horse made no sign.

It dawned upon him that the three shots fired in front of him had been a signal, and in alarm he turned toward the gate, but a voice near at hand called loudly, "Oscar!" and repeated the name several times.
Behind the Servian the little soldier answered sharply in English: "All steady, sir!" The use of a strange tongue added to the Servian's bewilderment, and he fled toward the gate, with Oscar hard after him.

Then Armitage suddenly leaped out of the shadows directly in his path and stopped him with a leveled revolver.
"Easy work, Oscar! Take the gentleman's gun and be sure to find his knife." The task was to Oscar's taste, and he made quick work of the Servian's pockets.
"Your horse was a good despatch bearer.