Uttering a yell like that of some wild animal, the fellow was off, striking against Winston with his body as he passed, leaping recklessly across the rocks, heading straight toward the nearest thicket.

It was all the work of a moment.

Farnham whirled and sent one shot after him; then, as suddenly remembering his own peril, wheeled back to face the others, the smoking revolver in his hand.

Amid the quick turmoil old Mike sprang to the summit of the rock rampart, his face flaming with enthusiasm.
"Go it, Swanska!" he yelled, encouragingly.

"Go it, ye crazy white-head! Be the powers, but it's the foinest runnin' Oi 've sane fer a whoile.