He quickly had the fellow lying inert and acting as though he did not have another bit of fight left in him. Managing to pull out the handcuffs, Perk first tested them for size, and finding he could snap them shut after circling the ankles of his prisoner he did so with a vim. This would effectually prevent the man from getting any distance away, since he could move his feet only a few inches at a time at the best.
Perk struggled to his feet, feeling more or less dizzy. His first natural act was to put a hand to his head, and feel it gently, in order to ascertain the character and extent of his injuries. There was a cruel lump on his crown and he knew blood was streaking his face but on the whole he did not believe he was very badly hurt–perhaps after the double beating the other fellow had received at his hands he was worse off than Perk–an idea that started the latter chuckling, even if the act caused him a sudden dart of pain that made him wince.
Then he remembered what was going on, knowledge of which had been knocked out of his head by the unexpected fight that had taken place. How about Jack?
He dimly remembered hearing further shots from behind the barrier, although unable to decide whether the bullets continued to break through close to the bottom of the door or otherwise. Could this later fire have been directed at Jack, who had unwisely exposed himself at the side window?
Perk was strongly tempted to disobey orders and hasten around the corner in order to learn the worst. If that daredevil inside had hurt his pal he would be mad enough to find some way of blowing up the shack and the gas-mad ex-soldier along with it, regardless of consequences. He only waited long enough to run his swollen hands over the recumbent figure of the man in irons so as to make sure he could not play the same mean trick a second time. Finding everything fast, he turned away from the scene of his recent ruction, and hurried around the corner of the shack, bent on backing up Jack or, in case his pal had been placed out of the running, to avenge his injuries without delay.
CHAPTER XXIX
A LAST RESORT
Meanwhile how fared Jack in his share of the attempt to corner the defiant and persistent law-breaker?
He had crept around the corner after leaving his chum, fully convinced that some sort of heroic measures must be brought to bear on the ugly situation if they hoped to succeed.
One thing had already been amply proved–this was the unmistakable fact that Oswald Kearns must be having one of his occasional brain sprees, the result of his wartime gassing when he was apt to tip over his balance and for the time being imagine himself beset by a myriad of bitter foes whom it was his duty, as well as privilege, to mow down, regardless of everything. Acting under this delusion he was doubtless resting under the belief that these were Hun machine-gun squads secreted in nests in the Argonne and that he was duly recruited by Heaven to round them up, disseminate their number, and fetch a goodly bunch into the American lines as prisoners of war.