Another instant and all doubts were at an end, for there was a bright flash, and directly after the heavy, reverberating roar of a gun.
“Sharp’s the word!” said the man softly as, taught by training, his fingers involuntarily drew forth aloud clicking from the lock of the piece he held; and as he stood there, breathing hard, every nerve and muscle was on the strain, for he could hear steps coming rapidly in his direction, and they must pass him—there was no other way; and it meant a desperate attack made by men armed with hammers and bars, perhaps only stones, and on the warder’s part duty and self defence.
“Someone’s number crossed out,” he muttered fiercely, for there was no feeling of dread now.
Then a change came over him as, with an intense feeling of satisfaction, he grasped the fact that the measured beat of feet was that of their more disciplined men.
He challenged, and there was the reassuring response.
“Anyone been this way?” cried a sergeant breathlessly as he halted four men.
“No.”
“Three of ’em got out and half killed two warders. They came along here, we think.”
“Nobody been this way.”
“Keep a sharp lookout, then. We’re going on. Challenge, of course, but if they don’t stand let them have it. They won’t spare you. Ready, there; we’ll go on to the next post, and come back directly.”