“I’m sure I can.”
“Then hold yourself ready to run for it.”
The young Tory had continued speaking; and now he lifted his voice for Nat’s benefit, still, however, addressing Dimisdale:
“However, at the worst there is no great harm done. These two gentlemen, whoever they are, are going to remain our guests for an hour or two.”
“Don’t be quite so sure of that,” cried Nat, through his tight shut teeth. Then with a quick word to the Porcupine they wheeled their nags and went tearing up the road in the direction of the city. Behind them came a confused hubbub; then the voice of Dimisdale rang out clearly:
“Halt!”
But they paid no attention; bending low in their saddles, they urged the galloping horses to a greater speed. Then a pistol shot sounded, followed by another and still another. The heavy bullets flew wide, and Nat laughed as he heard them “zip-zipping” among the trees.
“It takes a sharp eye to sight a pistol in the darkness,” said he.
“And it’ll take just as sharp a one to find the road that’ll take us to the ford,” declared the Porcupine, as he strained his eyes ahead. “But I rather think I’m going to do it, for all.”
“Do your best,” said Nat. “A great deal depends upon the next half hour—perhaps the very lives of Mr. Henry and his friends.”