They took heart at the sight and put on a new burst of speed. Who knew but what the American troops were camped on the further side?
Twenty feet further they stopped abruptly. The bridge was broken. The boards had been torn up, though the shattered timbers of the sides projected a few feet further over the current. But fully a hundred feet of black water stretched between them and the farther shore.
They stopped, panting and perplexed. And just at that moment they heard the hoofs of horses on the wood of the bridge.
They were trapped. To turn back was certain captivity or death. To plunge into that black current might also mean death. Their choice was made on the instant.
"Over we go, boys!" shouted Frank, throwing off his coat. "But we mustn't waste those last grenades. Let them have them."
They turned and threw, and without waiting to see the result dived headforemost into the stream. The roar of the explosion was in their ears as they struck the water.
They were all good swimmers, and when they came to the surface they found themselves within a few feet of each other.
"To the other bank, fellows!" exclaimed Frank, as he shook the water from his eyes. "And keep as low in the water as you can. They'll send a volley after us."
They struck out lustily for the farther shore while, as Frank had predicted, bullets zipped around them. But in the darkness their foes could take no aim and they reached the shore unscathed.
The bank was steep, with long reeds growing down to the water's edge. The fugitives grasped these and rested before they attempted to climb the bank.