So they dashed recklessly down the ravine, and after loosening the cable, they would doubtless endeavor to leap aboard.
The "Terror" would disappear with the speed of a meteor, and our attempt would be wholly defeated! "Forward," I cried.

And we scrambled down the sides of the ravine to cut off the retreat of the two men.
They saw us and, on the instant, throwing down their bundles, fired at us with revolvers, hitting John Hart in the leg.
We fired in our turn, but less successfully.

The men neither fell nor faltered in their course.

Reaching the edge of the creek, without stopping to unloose the cable, they plunged overboard, and in a moment were clinging to the deck of the "Terror." Their captain, springing forward, revolver in hand, fired.

The ball grazed Wells.
Nab Walker and I seizing the cable, pulled the black mass of the boat toward shore.