“We have struck an alarm wire and in a minute we shall have a dozen men on our track.”
Stumbling along the rough path the boys began to make the best speed they could over its uneven surface. But the tough journey they had made through the muddy trail among the saw-grass, and the fact that they had not eaten for some hours and were feeling somewhat faint, made a fast speed impossible.
They had not gone more than a few hundred yards when Harry gave a gasp and pressed his hand to his side.
“What is it, Harry?” asked Frank, through his parched lips.
“Keep on, Frank,” gasped the younger boy, “you can make it if you hurry. I’m tuckered out.”
“Come, make an effort, you’ve got to,” said Frank sternly, realizing that now was no time to sympathize with his younger brother, although he hated to use the sharp tone he thought it expedient to assume.
The younger boy rose to his feet. Pluckily he staggered on a few steps but sank to the ground again, overcome with the pain of the sharp “stitch” in his side.
“Go on, Frank,” he whispered in a faint voice, “you go on. I’ll get through somehow,” he added bravely, with a pitiful effort at a confident smile.
“As if I’d leave you,” said Frank, indignantly, “can’t you run another foot, old boy?”
“No, I really can’t, Frank,” gasped Harry, “I couldn’t move if I was to be killed the next minute.”