“We mustn’t stay long, though,” said O’Grady.
“No; now’s the time. Over we go,” cried Paul; and suiting the action to the word, over he rolled, followed by O’Grady, and both were speedily hid from sight in the brushwood.
Chapter Nine.
The two midshipmen rolled away down the hill at a very rapid rate, and then, getting on their feet, rushed on through the brushwood, not minding how much they tore their clothes, and running no little risk of scratching out their eyes. As yet no shouts had reached their ears, which they knew would have been the case had their flight been discovered. They had got so far that they did not mind speaking, and were congratulating each other on escaping so well, when they heard several voices cry out, and some shots fired in rapid succession.
“That must be Reuben,” cried Paul. “Oh, I hope that they haven’t hit him.”
“The first shot did not, or they wouldn’t have fired others, and they wouldn’t have fired at all had he not got to some distance before they shouted, on discovering that he had escaped,” observed O’Grady. “However, as we cannot help him, we must push on, or we shall be retaken ourselves.”
Paul saw that his friend was right, though he did not like the idea, as he thought it, of deserting Reuben.
“If he does not join us, we must send or come and look for him. He is not likely to leave the shelter of the wood,” he observed.