“And spurs, Gilbert! And a saber. We are truly in luck—if we can get away undiscovered!”
In feverish haste each threw a military cloak around his shoulders, put on a pair of spurs, and Gilbert buckled on the saber. Then they untied the horses, led them outside, and mounted.
“And now to ride for our very lives!” cried Gilbert, and led the way down a road which the lightning revealed to them. They put spurs to their steeds, and in a short while An-Ping was left far behind.
“We are not yet out of the woods,” said Ben. “If the picket guard catches us, we are lost.”
“I shall fight to the last, Ben!”
“Well, I’ll fight, too,—if they give us a chance.”
No more was said. The rain was now letting up a little, and the lightning was dying away to the southward. They were riding toward the southeast, for they imagined that in that direction lay the Japanese camp, although how far off there was no telling.
Half an hour later came an alarm. Out of the darkness leaped a Russian guard, with a bayonet fixed to his gun.
“Halt!” he shouted. “What is the countersign?”
“Moscow!” yelled Gilbert, on a venture. “Stand aside, fellow! We carry important dispatches,” and he crowded forward.