“But I can, sir,” cried the man. “I will.”
“Try him,” whispered Bracy.
“Double!” cried Roberts; and the retreat went on, Gedge trotting with the rest, but in the most unmilitary style, for he threw his head back, doubled his fists in close to his sides, and, squaring his elbows, went on as if engaged in a race.
“Looks as if he were running for a wager,” said Drummond.
“He is,” said Bracy coldly. “We all are—for our lives.”
The way they were about to go had now so markedly come towards the face of a precipice, from which puffs of smoke kept appearing, that it was evident something fresh must be done, or the end would lie very near, no mercy being expected from the foe; and as they went on Bracy kept turning his eyes to the right, seeking in vain for a glimpse of the rushing river, now hidden from their sight by tree and rock, though its musical roar kept striking plainly upon their ears.
“Rob, old chap,” he suddenly cried, “we must get down to the water, and try to cross.”
“Yes,” said Roberts abruptly. “I’ve been thinking so. It’s our only chance, and I’ve been waiting for an opening.”
“We must not wait,” said Bracy. “It’s chance, and we must chance it.”
“Halt! Right face, forward!”