It was evident he could not go on, while the crackle of twigs, roar of hoofs, and jingle of steel behind him, made it plain that to turn was to ride back upon the carbines of men who would be quite willing to use them.
There alone remained the river.

It ran fast below him, and the ice was thin, and for just a moment he tightened his grip on the bridle.
"We've got you!" a hoarse voice reached him.

"You're taking steep chances if you go on." Courthorne swung off from the trail.

There was a flash above him, something whirred through the twigs above his head, and the horse plunged as he drove his heels in.
"One of them gone for the river," another shout rang out, and Courthorne was crashing through the undergrowth straight down the declivity, while thin snow whirled about him, and now and then he caught the faint glimmer flung back by the ice beneath.
Swaying boughs lashed him, his fur cap was whipped away, and he felt that his face was bleeding, but there was another crackle close behind him, for Trooper Payne was riding as daringly, and he carried a carbine.

Had he desired it Courthorne could not turn.