With a gasp of amazement the man halted and gazed at the British as though bewildered. One look he gave them and then exclaimed in a shrill piping voice, in English:
"You are surrounded! Run, Anthony, run!"
He suited the action to the word, and, turning in his tracks, ran, puffing and blowing, in the direction from which he had come.
In spite of his merriment at this comical sight, Hal put spurs to his horse and dashed after him. The others did likewise. Hearing the sounds of pursuit, the little stout man redoubled his efforts and puffed on like an engine.
Hal ranged his horse alongside of him, and, restraining his laughter, shouted in a stern tone:
"Halt! or you are a dead man!"
The little man needed no further warning. He stopped so quickly that Hal rode on beyond him, while those behind were able to check their horses barely in time to keep from riding over him.
Hal leaped to the ground, and stood over the stranger, who lay panting on the earth where he had fallen the moment he stopped running.
"Who are you?" demanded Hal. "What are you doing here?"
The little man struggled in vain to reply; but he gasped so wildly for breath that for a moment he was unable to utter a word. Then, as he still panted, his eye fell upon the uniforms of the British troopers. He was on his feet in a moment.