He began to think that he might live. He seemed as far away from the peril behind him as the woods thing that gives its hunter the slip in the green depths of the covert. Dogs might be able to track him, but not men alone; and while they were bringing up the bloodhounds he might....
And then he heard a shout that struck through him like paralysis.
"There he is! I see him!"
"Where? Where?"
"That line behind the shack—don't you see?—a little streak right through the grass."
"No; I don't see anything."
"Come along and I'll show you. Come along, boys. We'll get him. He's only going on his belly."
"Yes, and be croaked, like this poor guy! Don't forget that the bird over there can give you a dose of lead."
So Flynn was dead! That was the meaning of that. Teddy had killed a man. Perhaps he had killed two men. He hadn't taken time to think of it before; but now that he did, he lay stricken in every muscle of his frame, his face in the mud, and his fingers dug into the queachy roots of the sedges.