His face was a trifle pale, but the same dogged look was in his gray eyes which, more than once, had snatched victory from seeming defeat.
"Does your arm hurt, Matt?" the girl asked.
"It's feeling better now," and Matt lifted it.
A little stream of red had run down his hand. The girl stifled a cry as she looked.
He laughed lightly.
"A scratch, that's all," he assured her. "Let's see how quick we can get around that next turn. When we pass that, we'll have a straight run to the river."
They called on every ounce of their reserve strength, and were around the bend before their enemies had had a chance to do any more firing.
Matt was wondering, during that last lap of their run, whether they were to be defeated at the very finish of their plucky flight.
They had delayed too long in leaving the girl's camp. He saw that, plainly enough, and yet he would not have started back to the boat at all unless he had received the news contained in Coleman's note.
Had Dick reached the river in time to attract the attention of those on the submarine and have the craft brought to the surface, ready and waiting for Matt and the girl?