Without waiting any longer, the boys renewed their flight. They knew that the Germans would be mad with rage at their check by so small a force, and they were not foolish enough to believe for a moment that the chase would be abandoned.
But a new exultation was in their hearts as they ran. They might be killed, but they would at least have sold their lives dearly. There would be little that the Uhlans would have to boast of in their story of that night's work.
Their breath came in short gasps and their laboring lungs felt as though they were ready to burst. Frank, a little in the van, reached out a warning hand and they slowed up.
"We'll make faster time if we give ourselves a minute's rest," he panted. "When we start in again we'll have our second wind. They haven't got out of that mix-up yet. Besides, they'll come on more cautiously now. They won't know how many grenades we have left."
"I haven't any," gasped Tom.
Billy was too far gone to speak, but he drew his last grenade from his sack. Bart and Frank also were down to their last one, for the work on the previous day had almost used up the stock with which they had started out. They had a chance for one last throw, and then if it came to a hand to hand fight they had nothing to rely on but their knives.
They rested for a minute or two, and then again upon the wind came the sound of hurrying hoofs.
Instinctively the boys reached out and grasped one another's hands. There was no need for words. They knew what it meant. To some of them this might prove the last lap of the last race they would ever run.
On came their pursuers, and the boys, summoning up every ounce of strength they possessed, set out at the pace of hunted deer.
Not two minutes had elapsed before their feet struck the boards of a bridge. Below they saw the gleam of the moon in the dark water that ran beneath.