This was plain enough, and the fugitives saw that if a fresh party started from the end of the long line they were bound to be cut off.
“Never mind,” cried Ingleborough; “we may get away! Those fellows are quite a mile from us, and their mounts will be pumped out if they push forward like that. Easy, easy! Let the ponies go their own pace!”
Settling down into a canter, the fugitives now began to look away to their left, where they had seen the other parties closing them in from their flank and rear.
“Hallo! Where’s the rest of the enemy?” cried West.
“Yonder, out of sight! The ground lies lower there; but I say, these fellows are coming on at a tremendous rate! Gallop or they’ll cut you off.”
“Then we’ll gallop!” cried West. “We, old fellow! Just as if I were going to leave you behind!”
“Very nice of you,” said Ingleborough merrily; “but you’re not fit for a despatch-rider. You’re about the worst I ever knew of!”
“Because I won’t forsake a friend?”
“Friend be hanged! There’s no friendship in wartime. Ah, here come some of the flankers.”
“Yes, I see them,” said West; “but what does this mean?”