A few minutes afterwards there were more shouts, much louder, and now on both sides of the river. It appeared that one party was answering another. As yet no one was to be seen. But in a few moments, as the gyro-boat rounded a bend, its occupants saw a lofty one-arched bridge spanning the stream. On either side a steep path led up into the hills. Giorgio looked anxiously around.
“See,” he said, pointing to the left-hand path.
The Englishman espied a number of men hurrying down towards the river. Just above them stood some horses.
“The path is too steep for horses,” said Maurice. “Do you see Slavianski and Rostopchin among the men?”
“I see them,” said George grimly. “We’ve got to shoot the bridge before they get to it, or they can pick us off as we pass. Slavianski won’t care a rap what he does now. Despatch or no despatch, he means to have his revenge on you for the dance you have led him. We’ll beat him. With the current in our favour we are going ten or twelve knots now. But—great Scott! there’s another lot on the other side, and much nearer, too.”
“No doubt the fellows we heard shouting,” said Maurice, with an anxious glance at a line of men running at breakneck speed down the path on the right. “Some of them must reach the bridge before we do. But they have no rifles; that’s one point in our favour.”
That the men were unarmed was due to the fact that they had been working in the field above the river, and had left their labour in response to the cries from the further bank. But they were followed at a long interval by some of their comrades, who had delayed to fetch their rifles from the hedge under which they had laid them. The Albanian and his weapon are rarely parted.
Three or four men gained the bridge when the gyro-boat was still some fifty yards from it. Shouts from the hills beyond had already apprised them that the travellers were to be intercepted. For a second or two they were lost in amazement on beholding the extraordinary craft bearing down towards them. Then, stationing themselves in the middle of the bridge, they prepared to hurl down on the gyro-boat, as it passed beneath, some heavy stones from the more or less dilapidated parapet.
Maurice had already divined their probable action. It was a fearsome prospect, and one that called for promptitude. He caught up Giorgio’s rifle—
“Put the helm hard over, George, when I give the word,” he said.