For an instant he halted and stared; then whirled face about.
"Back, Dick!" he exclaimed. "Run, run for your life!"
The words were hardly necessary. The boys had been seen and a wild clamor came from the encampment. A fizzing sputter of firearms awoke echoes in the timber, and scraps of lead could be heard slapping and zipping through the leaves.
"We might be good for three or four," panted Dick, as he stretched his legs along the path, "but we have to knock under when the whole rebel army gets after us."
"Save your breath!" cried Matt. "Run!"
"Where'll we run to? That other pack, with Fingal, is ahead."
"Never mind. The largest force is behind."
The dark-skinned rebels were tearing along like mad. The boys, looking over their shoulders, could see them wherever the path straightened out into a short, straight-away stretch. At such times, too, some one of the pursuing rabble let fly with a bullet. The bullets went wild, for there is no such thing as accurate shooting by a man who is on the run.
The boys were holding their own—perhaps doing a little better.
"We can distance 'em," puffed Dick, "if they'll only give us a little time. We'll be around the next turn and halfway to the one beyond before they show up again."