Ensign Warwick in the lead set a killing pace. Jack, Bob and Frank, however, thanks to their training in long-distance running at Harrington Hall, were enabled to keep up without difficulty. Inspector Burton surprised them all by sticking close.
“I’ve always been a bit of a runner,” he explained
during one three-minute halt for the recovery of breath.
So hard did Ensign Warwick push forward that in half an hour they neared the mouth of the canyon where it broadened out into the little landlocked harbor. A halt was called. Not a shot had been heard yet.
“Those Chinese we routed,” whispered Ensign Warwick, “would give the alarm that we are behind them if they caught up with ‘Black George.’”
“Perhaps they took to the hills,” suggested Jack. Inspector Burton nodded.
“It might easily be that they had a stomachful of fighting,” he said. “They might have decided to save their own skins and let ‘Black George’ shift for himself.”
“But if they have given warning, we might be ambushed,” said Frank. “A little way ahead there, at the mouth of the canyon, would be a fine place for an ambuscade.”
A distant sound of firing, followed by a pandemonium of high-pitched yells, shattered the silence.
“They’re attacking,” cried Ensign Warwick. “Come on. Ambush or not, we must go forward. Every man for himself and watch the sides of the canyon. On the run now, fellows. Let’s go.”