“I’ll fire low,” he thought. “That’s one of the fundamental rules in sharpshooting. Then, if you hit anybody, you are pretty sure to do something worth while.”
“Look out, Chick!” came excitedly from Patsy. “The woods are full of them! Mind they don’t crawl up behind. Gee! Here’s where I’ll beat it for the Bowery—or as near as I can get.”
“Back!” suddenly shouted Nick Carter. “Get back, both of you! They are working around on my side. They’ll cut you off in another minute!”
“That’s what!” roared Patsy. “But we can do some cutting ourselves. Whoop! Get out of my way! You black skunks! Come on, Chick!”
“Of course I will,” replied Chick, with the calmness of desperation. “I hear them on my left, but they haven’t got us yet. Hold together, boys! We’ll beat ’em!” he went on, hardly knowing, in his excitement, what he said.
Sending one more shot in the general direction of the enemy, Chick turned and lunged back into the darkness.
“Whoof!”
It was Nick Carter who made this involuntary ejaculation, for, in the blackness, Chick had plunged headlong into him.
“I beg your pardon!” blurted out Chick.
“That’s right!” laughed his chief. “Never forget your manners, old man. Bend low and run! It’s our only chance at this stage of the game.”