“So do I,” said Ralph; “it’s like being beaten, when we won. I say, were you hurt?”
“Only where you jobbed that sword of yours into my leg. Phew! it’s getting stiffer every moment. I shan’t be able to walk directly. Were you?”
“What, hurt? No, only where you scratched me.”
“It was pretty deep, then, for your sleeve’s soaked. Here, let me tie my handkerchief round it.”
“No, no,” said Ralph; “they’ll overtake us. Let’s make a run for it now.”
“Shall we?” said Mark unwillingly.
“Yes, we must. I can’t use my arm any more.”
“Well, I don’t think I can run much farther.”
“You must,” cried Ralph, sharply as he looked over his shoulder. “We’re not fit to fight.”
He thrust his sound arm through Mark’s, and they ran on pretty swiftly for a hundred yards or so, with the enemy in full pursuit, and then Mark stopped suddenly.