"It seems to me all wrong anyhow," replied Helmar; "I don't think he ought to have given such an order. A scout has no business to give signals like that, or even to carry matches, but I suppose it's got to be done. Get your pistol out and be ready while I strike a light."
A grunt from the Irishman signified assent, and, a moment after, Helmar struck a match. Simultaneously as the match flared up, there was a howl from the west, and the two watchers heard the galloping of horses from that direction, while from the eastward they heard a loud "whoop" from Captain Forsyth, who almost instantly dashed up.
"Quick, for your lives, men," he cried, "we are surrounded. There's a party of the enemy in hot pursuit of me. We must turn back and try to outflank them and join the rest of the patrol. Come on!"
Leading the way, he turned his horse and the three men galloped off.
"It's no go, cap'n," cried Brian, whose horse had leapt into the lead and was trying to bolt. "There's a party coming straight for us. Let's make a stand and give 'em a taste of our lead."
"On, man, on for your life! They're coming in all directions," he shouted back. "That match did it."
They turned their horses in another direction, but as they did so a rattle of musketry met them, and a hail of bullets flew over and around them.
"Pull up," said Forsyth, in quiet tones, "the game's up, we must make a fight for it."
Another volley whistled about them, and Brian's horse was hit and fell to the ground.
"Are you hurt?" cried Helmar, dismounting to his assistance.