And, stepping through the door, they dropped to the ground and raced off under the glare of the burning sun toward the rugged mountains that loomed ahead. * * * * * For a hundred yards or so they were able to keep the rocket between themselves and the Russians but soon the ground sloped up to such an extent that they realized they must be in full view. Dropping behind the scant shelter of a scraggly tree, they turned and glanced down--and there, beyond the rocket, they could now see a group of men standing around outside a small wooden shack, shouting and gesticulating in their direction. "Damn it, they've seen us!" muttered Stoddard. "But why don't they come after us?" queried Professor Prescott. The answer came even as he spoke, for out of the shack rushed the tall figure of the prince, in his hand a pair of binoculars which he raised to his eyes. Whether or not be spotted them, an instant later he turned and uttered a command, and two huge Cossacks sprang to the pursuit. "There's nothing to do now but run for it!" cried Stoddard, leaping to his feet. The professor followed and they plunged on up the slope, bullets from their pursuers' pistols and the rifles of those below kicking up the dust around them. But either because the aim was bad or the targets difficult, they escaped unscathed. As for Stoddard, he wasted no time in firing back. "Once we get in those mountains, we're safe!" he gasped, as they struggled on. "How are you, Professor--all right?" "No holes in my skin so far!" came the panting answer. Five desperate, dodging minutes passed. Glancing over their shoulders, they saw that the heavy, stolid Cossacks were losing ground. And ahead, tauntingly near now, loomed a thickly-wooded slope that meant the beginning of big timber--and safety. Another five minutes--each second an hour--and they had gained it. * * * * * But there was no pausing yet, they could hear the Cossacks crashing on like determined blood-hounds behind. "No need to climb any more!" exclaimed Stoddard, half breathless. "We'll edge along, keep in the trees, and try to throw them off." The older man said nothing; merely gritted his teeth. This climb had told on him more than anything he had experienced on the cruel slopes of Kinchinjunga. As they struggled along now, sometimes it seemed that they had thrown their pursuers off the trail, or completely outdistanced them, but always a moment later they would hear again the crunch of the Cossacks' boots on the dry undergrowth. So the grim flight continued, mile after heart-tearing mile, and Stoddard was beginning to realize that the professor couldn't keep on much longer--had just about decided to stop and shoot it out with their pursuers--when suddenly there came a sound that brought new hope to him. "Did you hear that?" he gasped, pausing. "It--sounded like--a car!" panted his companion.