“On, sir—­on, Mr. Colleton—­this is no moment for graceful attitude.  Bend forward—­free rein—­rashing spur.  We ride for life—­for life.  They must not take us alive—­remember that.  Let them shoot—­strike, if they please—­but they must put no hands on us as living men.  If we must die, why—­any death but a dog’s.  Are you prepared for such a finish to your ride?”

“I am—­but I trust it has not come to that.  How much have we yet to the river?”

“Two miles at the least, and a tough road.  They gain upon us—­do you not hear them—­we are slow—­very slow.  These horses—­on, Syphax, dull devil—­on—­on!”

And at every incoherent and unconnected syllable, the landlord struck his spurs into his animal, and incited the youth to do the same.

“There is an old mill upon the branch to our left, where for a few hours we might lie in secret, but daylight would find us out.  Shall we try a birth there, or push on for the river?” inquired Munro.

“Push on, by all means—­let us stop nowhere—­we shall be safe if we make the nation,” was the reply.

“Ay, safe enough but that’s the rub.  If we could stretch a mile or two between us, so as to cross before they heave in sight, I could take you to a place where the whole United States would never find us out—­but they gain on us—­I hear them every moment more and more near.  The sounds are very clear to-night—­a sign of rain, perhaps to-morrow.  On, sir!  Push!  The pursuers must hear us, as we hear them.”

“But I hear them not—­I hear no sounds but our own—­” replied the youth.

“Ah, that’s because you have not the ears of an outlaw.  There’s a necessity for using our ears, one of the first that we acquire, and I can hear sounds farther, I believe, than any man I ever met, unless it be Guy Rivers.  He has the ears of the devil, when his blood’s up.  Then he hears further than I can, though I’m not much behind him even then.  Hark! they are now winding the hill not more than half a mile off, and we hear nothing of them now until they get round—­the hill throws the echo to the rear, as it is more abrupt on that side than on this.  At this time, if they heard us before, they can not hear us.  We could now make the old mill with some hope of their losing our track, as we strike into a blind path to do so.  What say you, Master Colleton—­shall we turn aside or go forward?”

“Forward, I say.  If we are to suffer, I would suffer on the high road, in full motion, and not be caught in a crevice like a lurking thief.  Better be shot down—­far better—­I think with you—­than risk recapture.”

“Well, it’s the right spirit you have, and we may beat them yet!  We cease again to hear them.  They are driving through the close grove where the trees hang so much over.  God—­it is but a few moments since we went through it ourselves—­they gain on us—­but the river is not far—­speed on—­bend forward, and use the spur—­a few minutes more close pushing, and the river is in sight.  Kill the beasts—­no matter—­but make the river.”