The Complete Brigadier Gerard Stories. Arthur Conan Doyle

his hilt when I said that I hoped it might never be its misfortune to come in the way of the Third. Finally, he began to speak about what the English call sport, and he told such stories of the money which he had lost over which of two cocks could kill the other, or which of two men could strike the other the most in a fight for a prize, that I was filled with astonishment. He was ready to bet upon anything in the most wonderful manner, and when I chanced to see a shooting star he was anxious to bet that he would see more than me, twenty-five francs a star, and it was only when I explained that my purse was in the hands of the brigands that he would give over the idea.

      Well, we chatted away in this very amiable fashion until the day began to break, when suddenly we heard a great volley of musketry from somewhere in the front of us. It was very rocky and broken ground, and I thought, although I could see nothing, that a general engagement had broken out. The Bart laughed at my idea, however, and explained that the sound came from the English camp, where every man emptied his piece each morning so as to make sure of having a dry priming.

      ‘In another mile we shall be up with the outposts,’ said he.

      I glanced round at this, and I perceived that we had trotted along at so good a pace during the time that we were keeping up our pleasant chat that the dragoon with the lame horse was altogether out of sight. I looked on every side, but in the whole of that vast rocky valley there was no one save only the Bart and I−both of us armed, you understand, and both of us well mounted. I began to ask myself whether after all it was quite necessary that I should ride that mile which would bring me to the British outposts.

      Now, I wish to be very clear with you on this point, my friends, for I would not have you think that I was acting dishonourably or ungratefully to the man who had helped me away from the brigands. You must remember that of all duties the strongest is that which a commanding officer owes to his men. You must also bear in mind that war is a game which is played under fixed rules, and when these rules are broken one must at once claim the forfeit. If, for example, I had given a parole, then I should have been an infamous wretch had I dreamed of escaping. But no parole had been asked of me. Out of over-confidence, and the chance of the lame horse dropping behind, the Bart had permitted me to get up on equal terms with him. Had it been I who had taken him, I should have used him as courteously as he had me, but, at the same time, I should have respected his enterprise so far as to have deprived him of his sword, and seen that I had at least one guard beside myself. I reined up my horse and explained this to him, asking him at the same time whether he saw any breach of honour in my leaving him.

      He thought about it, and several times repeated that which the English say when they mean ‘Mon Dieu!’

      ‘You would give me the slip, would you?’ said he.

      ‘If you can give no reason against it.’

      ‘The only reason that I can think of,’ said the Bart, ‘is that I should instantly cut your head off if you were to attempt it.’

      ‘Two can play at that game, my dear Bart,’ said I.

      ‘Then we’ll see who can play at it best,’ he cried, pulling out his sword.

      I had drawn mine also, but I was quite determined not to hurt this admirable young man who had been my benefactor.

      ‘Consider,’ said I, ‘you say that I am your prisoner. I might with equal reason say that you are mine. Weare alone here, and though I have no doubt that you are an excellent swordsman, you can hardly hope to hold your own against the best blade in the six light cavalry brigades.’

      His answer was a cut at my head. I parried and shore off half of his white plume. He thrust at my breast. I turned his point and cut away the other half of his cockade.

      ‘Curse your monkey tricks!’ he cried, as I wheeled my horse away from him.

      ‘Why should you strike at me?’ said I. ‘You see that I will not strike back.’

      ‘That’s all very well,’ said he; ‘but you’ve got to come along with me to the camp.’

      ‘I shall never see the camp,’ said I.

      ‘I’ll lay you nine to four you do,’ he cried, as he made at me, sword in hand.

      But those words of his put something new into my head. Could we not decide the matter in some better way than by fighting? The Bart was placing me in such a position that I should have to hurt him, or he would certainly hurt me. I avoided his rush, though his sword point was within an inch of my neck.

      ‘I have a proposal,’ I cried. ‘We shall throw dice as to which is the prisoner of the other.’

      He smiled at this. It appealed to his love of sport.

      ‘Where are your dice?’ he cried.

      ‘I have none.’

      ‘Nor I. But I have cards.’

      ‘Cards let it be,’ said I.

      ‘And the game?’

      ‘I leave it to you.’

      ‘Écarté, then−the best of three.’

      I could not help smiling as I agreed, for I do not suppose that there were three men in France who were my masters at the game. I told the Bart as much as we dismounted. He smiled also as he listened.

      ‘I was counted the best player at Watier’s,’ said he. ‘With even luck you deserve to get off if you beat me.’

      So we tethered our two horses and sat down one on either side of a great flat rock. The Bart took a pack of cards out of his tunic, and I had only to see him shuffle to convince me that I had no novice to deal with. We cut, and the deal fell to him.

      My faith, it was a stake worth playing for. He wished to add a hundred gold piecesa game, but what was money when the fate of Colonel Etienne Gerard hung upon the cards? I felt as though all those who had reason to be interested in the game: my mother, my hussars, the Sixth Corps d’Armée, Ney, Massena, even the Emperor himself, were forming a ring round us in that desolate valley. Heavens, what a blow to one and all of them should the cards go against me! But I was confident, for my écarté play was as famous as my swordsmanship, and save old Bouvet of the Hussars of Bercheny, who won seventy-six out of one hundred and fifty games off me, I have always had the best of a series.

      The first game I won right off, though I must confess that the cards were with me, and that my adversary could have done no more. In the second, I never played better and saved a trick by a finesse, but the Bart voled me once, marked the king, and ran out in the second hand. My faith, we were so excited that he laid his helmet down beside him and I my busby.

      ‘I’ll lay my roan mare against your black horse,’ said he.

      ‘Done!’ said I.

      ‘Sword against sword.’

      ‘Done!’ said I.

      ‘Saddle, bridle, and stirrups!’ he cried.

      ‘Done!’ I shouted.

      I had caught this spirit of sport from him. I would have laid my hussars against his dragoons had they been ours to pledge.

      And then began the game of games. Oh, he played, this Englishman−he played in a way that was worthy of such a stake. But I, my friends, I was superb! Of the five which I had to make to win, I gained three on the first hand. The Bart bit his moustache and drummed his hands, while I already felt myself at the head of my dear little rascals. On the second, I turned the king, but lost two tricks−and my score was four to his two. When I saw my next hand I could not but give a cry of delight. ‘If I cannot gain my freedom on this,’ thought I, ‘I deserve to remain for ever in chains.’

      Give me the cards, landlord, and I will lay them out on the table for you.

      Here was my hand: knave and ace of clubs, queen and knave of diamonds, and king of hearts. Clubs were trumps, mark you, and I had but one point between me and freedom. As you may think, I declined his proposal. He knew that it was the crisis