"They'll be after us directly.
There, some of them are firing already.

Get up, or you'll lose my poor old horse." He turned upon me in a rage, with his revolver raised.
"Bah!" he cried.

Then a change came over him, and he turned to look back at the enemy.

"Can you run ?" he said.

"I can't; my right leg's cut." That was plain enough, for his breeches were gashed above the knee, and there was a great patch of blood spreading.
"Yes, I can run," I said stubbornly; "but I won't." "You shall," he said, as he thrust his foot into the stirrup and swung himself up on Sandho's back.