Maupassant Original Short Stories (180), Complete

mself, and, under pretext of examining the su

d plain. The country people sell the wood; they send it down the slopes, which are called coulees, locally, and which lead down to the plain, and there they stack it into piles, which they sell thrice a year to

red us not to stir, and only to come to him when we heard him blow his trumpet. It was made of a goat's horn, and could be heard a l

strength. A whole mortal hour passed, and he did not come; nothing moved in the brushwood. The captain's wife began to grow impatient. What could he be doing? Why did he not call us? Did the shot that we had heard proceed from an enem

en killed, and that the Prussians were blowing the trumpet to draw us into an ambush. We therefore returned to the cottage, keeping a careful lookout with our fingers on the trigger, and hiding under the branches; but his wife, in spite of our entreatie

on! He is ali

g his pipe at the entrance of the village,

the sentry at the door, had not time to see me before I gave him a sugarplum in his stomach, and then, before the others could come out, I jumped on the horse and was off like a shot. Eight or ten of them followed me, I think; but I took the crossroads thr

nce of the main street, where the road from the level country enters the village, while the two others, the captain

o, then three. The first was evidently a chassepot -one recognized it by the sharp report,

d toward the village, and to join me when they had gone well between the houses. Then they were to appear suddenly, take the patrol betw

te sure that he has managed to get a shot into himself somewhere or other, for we hear nothing of him. It serves him right; why did he not ob

or a prisoner? When night came, the captain proposed that we should go out and look for him, and so the three of us started. At the crossroads we found a broken rifle and some blood, while the ground w

ey cannot possibly have taken him prisoner, as he would have called out for help. I cannot understand it at all."

venge, and then they will scuttle off without saying a word. They will be satisfied with having killed a man and set fire to two house

ck if we could set Piedelot free

saw of it was the reflection above the roof. However, we were walking rather slowly, as we were afraid of an ambush, when suddenly we heard Piedelot's well-known voice. It had a strange sound, however; for it was at the sa

l, and in two bounds we were at the back of