Had the abruptness of his start not given him a slight advantage, he would have been caught at once.

As it was, the chase would not be a long one; the clumsy, stiff-jointed man slithered here and stuck fast there, dodging obstacles with an awkwardness that was painful to see.

He could be heard sobbing and cursing as he ran.
At this point the Commissioner, half turning, signed to the troopers in his rear.

Six or seven of them shook up their bridles and rode off, their scabbards clinking, to prevent the fugitive's escape.
A howl of contempt went up from the crowd.

The pink and white subaltern made what was almost a movement of the arm to intercept his superior's command.
It was too much for Long Jim's last mate, the youthful blackbeard who had pluckily descended the shaft after the accident.