Hal now thought he saw his way clear to escape. He bounded toward the door, and was just inserting the key into the lock when Macklin sprang up.
Beside the stove lay a heavy billet of wood, which the man had intended to split up for kindlings. Macklin caught up the stick, and jumping behind Hal, hit the youth a fearful blow directly on the top of the head.
With a low cry, Hal sank down in a heap. Macklin gave a sudden gasp, and Ferris straightened up.
"Have you—killed him?" asked Ferris in a tone, of horror.
"I don't know," replied the tough. "Dat was a kinder heavy crack, wasn't it?"
Ferris shuddered. A thin stream of blood was issuing from Hal's head, and this made the tall boy sick. He approached and gazed at Hal's pallid face and motionless form.
"I'm afraid you have killed him, Macklin," he said.
"Me killed him?" cried the tough. "I kinder think you had as much ter do wid it as me."
Ferris had a sudden chill dart down his back-bone at these words. If anything was wrong it was certain Macklin did not intend to shoulder the blame.
"What made you hit him so hard?" he asked.