Five minutes later the wanderers had shaken the dust of Charleton from off their feet—for the last time, as they fondly hoped.
Their route lay betwixt the devastated cornfields, where no cover was available; but since the gates of the city were closed at night, no one was likely to be met.
At length they gained the entrance to the formidable gap betwixt the rocks, and here again, although lights shone in the guardhouse, none challenged them. In the gorge the darkness was intense, and the refugees had great difficulty in avoiding the stones that had fallen from above; but, maintaining perfect silence, they kept on their way, emerging from the sombre ravine as day was breaking.
"We may as well take proper precautions in case we are pursued when our flight is discovered," said Reeves, and, bringing his musket to his shoulder, he fired into the gorge they had just left behind them. The echoes of the report were drowned by a roar like thunder, as tons of rock came hurtling from the heights above.
"That will take them some time to clear, I expect," he continued, as he reloaded his clumsy weapon. "We've slammed the front door in our host's face. Now, we won't go south, but we'll try our luck with the quicksands."
The lads wondered why their companion had taken the trouble to carry the heavy coil of rope with him, but their curiosity was set at rest when Reeves proceeded to rope them together, leaving nearly thirty feet of "slack" between each.
This done, he began the perilous passage, walking backwards so as to be sure of keeping the leading marks in line; while Hugh and Gerald, holding the intervening lengths of rope fairly taut, followed in his footsteps.
On and on Reeves went, till after covering nearly a mile he stopped. "Here we turn," he exclaimed. "Now, mind how you go. Follow me very carefully."
"Shall I take the lead?" asked Gerald. "You must be frightfully fagged walking backwards all that way."
"I'd be glad if you would," replied Reeves gratefully. "My muscles are aching fearfully. There are the marks."