"Great Heavens!" gasped Lawrence. "They are at it. Foster and his little band against thousands. Why did we leave them? We might have been of a little help."
"And we are going farther away from Warren every minute," groaned Dan.
Here the whistling of a bullet from the revolver of the nearest guerrilla brought their thoughts back to the seriousness of their own situation. They had now gone beyond the sound of the musketry, but the roar of the cannon grew more incessant, and they knew they were almost in the rear of the enemy.
Coming to where there were open fields, they glanced to the right and saw the stragglers and wounded drifting to the rear, as is always the case in time of battle. They must turn or they would soon be in the midst of the rabble.
Fortunately, they came to a cross road and turned into it. They were now followed by only five or six of their pursuers, the rest having turned back to take part in the battle. But these half dozen were mounted on the fleetest horses and were gaining on them rapidly. Already the bullets were singing around them freely.
"This cannot last," Lawrence exclaimed. "Our horses are becoming winded. We must find some way to stop those fellows."
"We've got to stop them," said Dan. "My horse is staggering and I look for him to drop any minute."
They rode over a little hill that for a moment put them out of sight. "Now," said Lawrence, halting and wheeling his horse. Dan did the same.
"When they come over the hill give it to them," exclaimed Lawrence. "It will be a question of who can shoot the straightest."
Dan smiled and he drew his revolver. He was known to be a dead shot, and nothing rattled him.