THE FLIGHT
Human senses could not withstand such an onslaught. It startled the three to instant action. The tide of self-preservation ebbed back into their bodies; with one accord they reared their arms upward across their faces to ward off the shock of that accursed sound, as though its very effluvium scorched its scar into their flesh. There was an utterance of mingled gasps. There was a sudden rush of jumbled, panic-stricken footsteps. A tumbling, scrapping, frantic confusion. A groan—a half scream—a sob and the door banged.
The church was empty, save for the mumbling, croaking, mad lazar.
In getting out Lem had stumbled in the door and fallen heavily over his rifle. When he scrambled to his feet again, he beheld Belle-Ann and Buddy fleeing across the moonlit clearing. He started to follow, but checked himself and stopped short; he stood combating the superstitious fear that had dropped into his senses and sapped away his equanimity.
"Gawd'll Moughty," he muttered audibly, "air this ole Cap Lutts' boy runnin' away. Not by a dern sight—I'll go back an' finish em." Then he hallooed lustily after Buddy.
"Hey, Buddy—Buddy—Buddy—cum back heah—cum back heah, I tell yo'—cum back!"
Buddy came back reluctantly, his thin countenance still grim with pallor and an inquiring look in his wild eyes.
"Whut ails yo', Lem?" he panted.
Lem regarded him a second with an admonishing stare, forgetful of his own conduct.
"I'm ashamed o' yo'," he said.