I was excited; it was unquestionably the most trying moment of my life, and I met it as we had not foreseen. Advancing two steps hurriedly, my feet caught in one another somehow, and with a wild war-whoop of distress I fell forward on my face, carrying Oakes with me in a crashing, headlong mix-up that must have been heard for a hundred yards in that still morning air.
It was all over!
The two in the hut heard us, the strangler released his hold and the light was extinguished instantly. Out of the door the figures flew like demons. They were both anxious to escape detection—that was evident. They must have thought it was the charge of the Light Brigade.
Oakes and I were up and after them. He shouted a word of command, then I heard more footsteps, and our guide answered. Instantly came the sounds of a struggle, fierce but short, in the darkness beyond. We could see nothing, but we heard a heavy fall, and then the rush of an escaping man, or men. Oakes and I were quick to reach the spot, and managed to find our forest guide groaning on the ground.
At Oakes's suggestion we carried him back to the hut, which I ascertained was now quite empty. It was a grewsome experience, this. Oakes refused to allow a match to be struck, saying: "Don't draw their fire, Stone; we may be in a nest of them." My chagrin was deep as I thought of the opportunity that my clumsiness had brought to naught. We soon succeeded in reviving our man; he had been felled by a fist blow on the face, evidently.
"Did you see the other fellow?" asked my companion.
"Yes, sir, I saw one; he was Skinner. I caught his face in the lantern light just as they doused it."
"Indeed!" cried Oakes. "Skinner! You mean the man who runs the newspaper—the one I have ordered shadowed."
"Yes, sir; the same. It was he who was counting the money."