Peter, snarling and cursing with frustration, swung himself up onto the black horse, and Hannerl struggled to keep the bay still while I mounted. Peter’s horse snorted with impatience while I said, “Good horse—nice old thing—be gentle, now—” and similar daft things. The horse tossed his head scornfully, Hannerl opened the door, and we were off.

It was dark. There were lights in the windows of the houses we rode past; a little snow was falling, just swirling fretfully about, trying to make up its mind whether to land or fly on for a bit. Peter rode straight off at a trot, not looking to right or left. My horse wasn’t keen on the snow, and I didn’t blame him, but I wished he wouldn’t skip about.

I managed to stay on until we came to the bridge.

This was going to be the most dangerous part. The bridge was always busy; it was the only place for miles where you could cross the river, and the road wasn’t an unimportant one: there were always travelers coming and going, besides the villagers themselves and us up at the castle. So I wasn’t surprised to see two or three men strolling across from the other side. They were strangers; they looked as if they’d been for a walk, for they weren’t carrying any luggage, nor were they dressed for a long journey. One of them was holding a lantern. They stood aside to let us by; and then suddenly one of them gaped and gripped the arm of the man with the lantern.

“That’s my horse!” he cried, pointing at the black that Peter was riding.

Peter cursed and drove his heels into the horse’s sides to kick it on. The man leapt into the road in front of him.

“Ringl! Ringl!” he cried, waving his arms, and tried to seize the reins as Peter, galloping now, swept past. But the man missed his footing, slipped on the icy road, and fell heavily—right under the hooves of my horse! I screamed, and Peter yelled something up ahead and the other two men shouted, too; and my horse leapt and seemed to spring sideways and missed the man who’d fallen. But I was nearly out of the saddle and I’d lost a stirrup and one hand was clutching the horse’s mane while the other tugged fearfully at the reins; and as I twisted, trying to find the stirrup and my balance simultaneously, one of the other men jumped forward and seized the reins—and the horse’s head slewed round suddenly, and I fell.