Jack Utley’s persistent disregard of all caution worried me much. As I thought of his chicken-stealing episode and of the fire he insisted upon having in the old hut, it occurred to me that we might even at the moment be under the surveillance of some of our enemies. Seeing the smoke in the distance, they might have suspected that we were the cause of it, and, circling to our rear, come over the hill and rush down on us. I determined to keep a close watch on all sides.
I was gazing up the hill, a little to the right of our camp, somewhere about four o’clock, when I detected the sound of fast-approaching feet. Instantly my heart was set beating at a furious rate. Scenting danger, I hurriedly roused the lads, telling them what I had heard, and warning them to get ready for flight. Even as I finished a horseman came in view, but from his position I wasn’t certain that he’d seen us. We all crouched low, and were beginning to feel that all was well, when he wheeled about and planted his horse on the hillside only a few rods below us and a little to the left. Immediately he yelled:—
“Come on with the guns, boys. Here they are, like woodchucks in their holes.”
This shout was responded to by half a dozen farmers on foot, most of them armed with either a shotgun or a pistol. Down they came upon us, firing and yelling at the same time. Their deliberation told me better than words that they had a perfect knowledge of what the game was they were after. And what was worse, they showed unmistakably that they would get us, even if they had to fight to the end. My fears, therefore, that we would be traced had not been groundless, after all. Jack Utley’s foolhardiness was reaping its penalty, and we all must suffer.
At the first shout of the horseman below, who seemed not to be armed, we dashed down the hill, diagonally away from him. He made no move to intercept us. As a matter of fact, he was in range of his comrades’ guns and did not dare to get too near us, around whom the small shot and some bullets were flying thick as hail. George Wilson and I kept together as best we could, but presently I heard him groan, and a side glance showed me that his left arm was hanging limp at his side. One of my fingers was stinging from the glance of a shot, which, however, left no wound.
“Follow me, George,” I shouted, as I ran toward a thick wall of undergrowth, and he came on. I reached the bushes, followed, as I supposed, by Wilson, and, making as wide a path as I could for him, pushed on, never looking behind, though I lost my hat and had my face sadly scratched with the sharp twigs. Presently I was conscious that more than Wilson were after me, and, not knowing who they might be, I redoubled my speed, and, avoiding the fate of the hapless wife of Lot as told in Holy Writ, did not look behind, but bounded over a wide brook and dashed across a meadow, leaving those following some distance to the rear in a few minutes. Then I paused to catch my wind, and saw, to my surprise, Jack Utley and Big Bill coming as fast as they could in my direction, but George Wilson was nowhere to be seen. I was much disappointed over this, and felt that I ought to have paid more heed to him, wounded as he was, though I remembered what the lads had said once about the sort of chivalry I had in mind: that the misfortune of one man was not sufficient reason for his mate or mates to risk capture to go to his relief; for, as they put it, one man in jail and the others out with money could do more to aid him than a thousand men in jail with him.
When my associates came up we resumed our flight, wondering the while what had become of the other half of the party, and how it was that none of our pursuers was in sight. We decided that they had gone after the lads who had fled in another direction, and in the mix-up we had got away. Our best means of escape seemed to be up a road which led past a farm-house. As we ran, a woman, near whom were several children, all gazing at us, called out that three of the robbers had turned into the left fork of the road a few rods ahead of us. We realized right away that the woman believed us to be some of the pursuers, instead of the pursued, and it was thought best for our safety to let her retain that opinion.
As we turned into the right fork, which seemed to be only a narrow path through thick woods, the woman shouted to us, “They went the other way.” Utley called back that two of the pursuing party had already gone that road, and that it would be better if we took the right fork. Thus assuring the good woman, we broke into a smart pace and soon left her behind a turn in the road. Our route was little travelled, winding here and there, but averaging to the right, occasionally through a sparse wood and sometimes across a rocky chasm, and finally into a ravine, at the end of which, a considerable distance over a valley, could be seen a hill of no mean height. After hastening on for ten minutes, it became evident to me that my companions were beginning to feel that dangerous sort of security which I so dreaded.
“Let’s foot it as fast as we can for that hill ahead,” I said, pointing it out, “and having climbed to the other side, we can double back on our pursuers, and come pretty near the point from which we were driven.”
To my satisfaction there was no balking at this, and, starting with renewed vigor and speed, we had been going perhaps five minutes when I saw, with much concern, that Big Bill was handicapping us not a little. His upward of two hundred pounds of flesh and bone were retarding him mightily.