"If they follow,..." I panted as I ran, "... I will hold them at the
Coupée.... No danger.... Behind pillar.... You run on and rouse
neighbours.... Our only chance.... They can shoot us as we run."

She had been going to object, but saw that I was right, and on we
went--past the old mill, past the old fort, and a bullet buzzed by my head
like a droning beetle. Down the narrow way to the razor of a path that led
to Sercq, and half the way along it, I ran with her. Then--

"Go!" I panted, and flung myself behind the great rock pillar that
buttressed the path on the Grande Grève side and towered high above me.

She ran on obediently, and one shot followed her, for which I cursed the
shooter and heard young Torode do the same. I was their quarry; but one,
in the lust of the chase, had lost his head.

I leaned panting against the rock, and saw Carette's skirts disappear over
the brow of the Common at the Sercq end, with thankfulness past words. For
myself, I was safe enough. No shot could reach me so long as I kept cover.
From no point on Little Sercq could they snap at me by any amount of
climbing. I was as safe as if in a fortress, and Carette was speeding to
rouse the neighbours, and all was well.

I had no weapon, it is true, and if they had the sense and the courage to
come in a body along the narrow way, things might go ill with me. The first
comer, and the second, I could dispose of, but if the others came close
behind they could end me, as I fought. But I did not believe they would
have the courage, even though they saw it was the only possible chance. For
that knife-edge of a path--two hundred yards in length and but two feet
wide in places, with the sea breaking on the rocks three hundred feet below