“The ridge!” echoed Sandy, in dismay, as he fell in behind, when they had started.
“Sure, we have to git beyant the same, av we hope to make the river,” the Irish trapper went on to say.
“Then do you hope to follow up the water, and get there ahead of them?” gasped the boy, in sore distress, as he contemplated the slow progress the limping man was making at the time.
“I do not, be the same token,” answered Pat; “but the closer we are to the river, the better for us, when we do be thryin’ to work down strame, afther warrnin’ the camp, d’ye mind.”
“Oh! I see now what you mean,” Sandy whispered, keeping close behind the other. “After we’ve sent the signal, we must hurry as fast as we can down the river, so as to put a lot of distance between us. Then, when the boat comes along, we have to hail them, and wade out to get aboard. Is that what you figure on, Pat?”
“Yees have hit the tarrget in the bull’s-eye, Sandy; and now, arrah, please close up shop; it do be harrd climbin’ the ridge, and we nade ivery bit av breath to kerry us over the same.”
Under ordinary conditions the task would not have given them much trouble; but bearing such heavy burdens, and with Pat able to make such poor headway, it took them some little time to gain the top of the ridge.
Bob fancied that they must be about in the same spot as where they had seen the grim line of fighting men outlined against the sky. He hoped there would be no one below to notice their passage at the time.
“Do we fire the shots from here!” asked Sandy.