“It’s feeling better now.”
A little stream of red had run down his hand. The girl stifled a cry as she looked, but he only laughed lightly.
“A scratch, that’s all,” he assured her. “Let’s see how quick we can get around that next turn. When we pass that, we’ll have a straight run to the river.”
They called on every ounce of their reserve strength, and were around the bend before their enemies had had a chance to do any more firing.
Bob was wondering, during that last lap of their run, whether they were to be defeated at the very finish of their plucky flight. They had delayed too long in leaving the girl’s camp. He saw that, plainly enough, and yet he would not have started back to the boat at all unless he had received the news contained in Coleman’s note.
Had Dick reached the river in time to attract the attention of those on the submarine and have the craft brought to the surface, ready and waiting for Bob and the girl? If not, if the slightest thing had gone wrong and caused a delay, then Bob and his companion must surely fall into the hands of Fingal and General Pitou. Yet, harassed though he was by these doubts, Bob’s nerve did not for a moment desert him.
The rebels were behind them, and firing, when he and Ysabel reached the bank of the river. But the soldiers were firing wildly now, and their bullets did not come anywhere near their living targets.
And there, plainly under Bob’s eyes, was the Grampus. She was at the surface, he could hear the throb of her working motor, and Dick was forward, swinging back on the cable and holding her against the bank. Carl was half out of the conning tower, tossing his hands frantically.
“Hurry up! hurry up!” clamored Carl. “Don’d led dose fellers ged you, Bob. Schust a leedle furder und——”
Bob was about to yell for Carl to drop out of the tower and clear the way, but a bullet, fanning the air close to Carl’s head, caused him to disappear suddenly.