The roan
was close at hand, and in another instant all would
have been safe; but as the figure in the scarlet
cassock stepped forward, the Gadfly suddenly
wavered and the hand with the pistol sank down.
The instant decided everything. Immediately he
was surrounded and flung violently to the ground,
and the weapon was dashed out of his hand by a
blow from the flat of a soldier's sword. Marcone
struck his mare's flank with the stirrup; the hoofs
of the cavalry horses were thundering up the hill
behind him; and it would have been worse than
useless to stay and be taken too. Turning in the
saddle as he galloped away, to fire a last shot in
the teeth of the nearest pursuer, he saw the Gadfly,
with blood on his face, trampled under the feet
of horses and soldiers and spies; and heard the
savage curses of the captors, the yells of triumph
and rage.
Montanelli did not notice what had happened;
he had moved away from the steps, and was trying
to calm the terrified people. Presently, as he
stooped over the wounded spy, a startled movement
of the crowd made him look up.
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