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Higher up, these slopes become quite respectable precipices. A dozen turns, which were accomplished in unbroken silence, brought the party to an altitude of several hundred feet above the level. "I I don't know that I wholly like it," said Miss Ruth, holding on to the pommel of her saddle and looking down into the valley, checkered with fields and criss-crossed with shining rivulets.
If he attacked, he would have to march at the head of his men; and as, with him dead, all strife would cease, it was at him and him only that M. de Varnetot and his three guards would aim. And they were good shots, very good shots, as Picart had just said. But an idea struck him and, turning to Pommel, he ordered: "Run quickly to the druggist and ask him to lend me a towel and a stick."
'What! war? swords for Svend! round about the king, good men and true! Sons of the golden-haired, show these men WAR. As he spoke he let his black cloak fall, and up from their sheaths sprang seven swords, steel from pommel to point only; on the blades of them in fantastic letters of gold, shone the word WESTWARD.
"Reckon I'd better be joggin' erlong toward Old Ti, heh, Colonel?" remarked the ranger, leaning an elbow on the pommel of the saddle. "You had, 'Siah, you had. We can depend upon you, and those red-coated rascals there must be kept unsuspicious and their fears if they have any lulled to sleep.
The row of dark objects showing along the upper edge of a projecting rock might well have been mistaken for so many birds preening themselves in the sunlight, only that his keen eight had caught the movement of a pony's tail and the half-hidden plumes of an Indian's head-dress. He dropped the loop of his bridle reins over the pommel and slowly gripped his gun with a finger on the trigger.
Her dark, level gaze came round and met his sunniness without response. "Yes, I see you, Tom Dixon." "And you don't think you see much then?" he suggested lightly. She gave him no other answer than the one he found in the rigor of her straight figure and the flash of her dark eyes. "Mad at me, Phyl?" Crossing his arms on the pommel of the saddle he leaned toward her, half coaxing, half teasing.
He stood on tiptoe to read the more easily the time-blurred characters, his baggage at his feet, his fingers pressed against the door. Some of the words he could not decipher nor comprehend, but the first was plain to his understanding. "Doom!" said he airily and half aloud. "Doom! Quelle félicité! It is an omen." Then he rapped lightly on the oak with the pommel of his sword.
One of them, clinging desperately to the high pommel, but reeling in his saddle, urges his willing pony down the slope; the other has plunged forward and lies stone-dead upon the sward.
Ever keen to see the humor of a situation, Norman of Torn wheeled his horse and rode back with the Queen's messenger. As he faced Her Majesty, the Outlaw of Torn bent low over his pommel. "You be a strange knight that thinks so lightly on saving a queen's life that you ride on without turning your head, as though you had but driven a pack of curs from annoying a stray cat," said the Queen.
As she passed slowly, the would-be regicide swayed and fell from his horse, and stirred no more. Elizabeth rode on, her hand upon the pommel of the saddle. So she rode for a full half-hour, and came back to her palace. But she raised not her gloved right hand above the pommel, and she dismounted with exceeding care.
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