"Let's be in at the finish," I cried, and we started in the dim steely haze of the obscured moon to follow the chase. Darkness impenetrable came on, and suddenly a wild moan of anguish reached us—an awful, convulsive cry of terror. It neared us and was in our very neighborhood—in our midst—and again away; and with it came the rush of feet, heavy and tired, and soon the light tread of the pursuer—the athletic, soft tread of Oakes. I shall never forget that cry of terror. It was as though the soul had left the body in anguish—it was a cry of fear greater than man seemed capable of uttering.
From out of the darkness came the voice of Moore: "A maniac in terror!" Then the heavy tread was upon us again, a body darted past me, and the heavy revolver spoke again. I felt a stinging sensation in my arm, a numbness, a feeling of dread and of fear; then I reeled and recovered, and looking around me saw the figure dashing away like mad. The moon was uncovering again, and the fighting instinct of the brute was aroused within me. I knew I was wounded, but it was a trivial matter. I felt the surging of blood to my brain, the pumping of my heart, the warmth and glow of the body that comes when one rallies from fear or surprise, and the next instant I was off in pursuit.
Always a good runner, I seemed endowed with the speed of the wind; slowly I gained. The man before me ran rapidly but heavily; he was tired. He glanced around and moved his arms, and I realized that he was unarmed. His weapon had fallen. I shut my mouth and saved my breath, and loosened joints which had not been oiled since the days of long ago, when I played on my college foot-ball team. Slowly I closed in—the capture was to be mine—the honor for Stone, yours truly—lawyer. I unreefed some more, and the ground went by under me like mad. I was dizzy with elation and courage and bull-hearted strength, and then, just as I came within talking distance of the fleeing terror, there was a report and my right leg dragged, my stride weakened and tied itself into bowknots, and I dropped my revolver. I realized I was done for. We all know the symptoms—the starboard front pulley of my new Broadway suspenders had "busted."
The next instant the "terror" had turned and was upon me. I felt a crashing fist in my face and another in my neck, a swinging blow on my jaw and a quick upper cut in my solar plexus; and as the moon had just again disappeared behind the cloud, I sank to the plain of Mona nearly unconscious—overpowered. I felt hands with the power of ten men seize my wrists. I felt them being tied together with handkerchiefs; I felt a heavy weight on my stomach, and realized that I was being used as a sofa. Then I started to call for help, to speak and to struggle; but the terror who had murdered and frightened, and held up this part of the State, soaked me again with both fists. I thought of home and New York and mint juleps, and of the two dollars I spent to railroad it up to Mona, and realized that it was cheap for all I was getting. Then I started in to die; and the fiend struck a match in my face, and I nearly did die. For it was that quiet, aristocratic Elliott. "You're the darndest ass I ever saw," said he as he got off; "why didn't you tell who you were?"
"Couldn't," I muttered. "I was thinking of——"
I never finished that remark, for the next instant Elliott was borne down to the ground by the force of the impact of a great body. He rolled about with the unknown, and tore and twisted. I heard the deafening blows rain on his head, and was powerless to aid, for my hands were tied and I was strangely weak—I was done for.
"You d—— fiend! I've got you. You will murder Stone along with the others, will you? You terror, you."
I recognized the voice as I heard the handcuffs click on Elliott, and realized it all.
It was too much. "Hallen!" I murmured. "Thank God! Soak him again," and I heard the blows descend on Elliott's anatomy. Then I relented.
"Spare him, Chief—it's Mr. Elliott."