Get ready to run or fight.
It's a fearful affair.

Four of the marshals were down when I left, and Dick Prescott is done for, too! Oh, it's fearful! There won't be any of the government party left!" Apparent terror rang in Darrin's voice as he ran forward flourishing his "Quaker" rifle.
"Great Scott!" groaned Bayliss, trying to rise and run, though his legs shook under him.
"Buck up! Don't be a coward!" hissed Dodge, seizing his companion by the arm.

"Come on! Run for it---before we're hit." Thus the two made their escape, running, stumbling through the woods, heading blindly for the spot where they had left their car.
Back of them fresh sounds of firing rang out.

How could the frightened, dazed fugitives know that it was Dick Prescott, pursuing, and dropping lighted strings of fire crackers as he ran?
"It's a running fight, and coming right our way!" gasped Bert.
"Let's drop down and crawl to safety!" almost screamed Bayliss.
"No, you don't!" retorted Dodge angrily.

"Our only safety lies in getting into that car and throwing the engine wide open.