He made no reply, but bent down and picked the girl up in his arms. Then, thus burdened, he staggered on along the path.
The pursuers were coming closer and closer. Two or three shots rang out, so close together that they sounded almost as one. Bob stumbled and nearly fell.
“You’re hurt!” cried the girl, noticing how his left arm dropped at his side, releasing her.
“Nicked, that’s all,” he answered. “The shock of it came near to taking the strength out of me for an instant. I’m all right now, although the arm isn’t much good for the present.”
“I’ll run along beside you,” said the girl, in a strangely subdued tone.
Her ruse to get Bob to leave her had not succeeded. On the contrary, it had cost Bob something. The girl, all contrition, ran at his side and did much better than she had done before.
A turn in the woods put them out of sight of their pursuers and presented a screen against the vicious firearms.
“Just a little farther,” breathed the girl. “The river is close now.”
“We’ll make it,” returned Bob cheerily. His face was a trifle pale, but the same dogged look was in his gray eyes which, more than once, had snatched victory from seeming defeat.
“Does your arm hurt, Bob?” the girl asked.