Between them they carried the boy into the hall and up the stairs. On the upper floor a door opened and Louise came out, carrying a lamp. She looked drained of life and color, dead-white, her eyes wide and liquid and terrified.
“It’s all right,” Lockwood said quickly. “Your brother’s back—not badly hurt, I think. We’ll get him to bed. Hanna’s bolted. Everything’s going to be all right now. Will you telephone for a doctor?”
Louise gave him a wonderful, luminous look, seemed to try to speak, and choked.
They laid Jackson on his bed. He had a wound through the upper left arm; a bullet had torn one ear and gashed his cheek; making a terrible bleeding, and there was a bloody furrow across the top of his head, which probably had most to do with his state. But none of these hurts appeared serious.
As Lockwood bent over the patient he heard down on the bayou the rapid, sharp explosions of a motor boat, diminishing to a distant drumming.
CHAPTER XIX
THE LABYRINTH
The men were straggling back, talking loudly and excitedly in the darkness. As he ran down the stairs Lockwood met Tom on the gallery, hot, furious, defeated.
“How is he?” asked Tom.
“Jackson’s not so bad,” returned Lockwood, “Think he’ll be all right. We’ve phoned for the doctor. Hanna got away?”
“Yes, in the motor boat. He was a-scootin’ down the bayou ’fore we could git near him. But we’ll git him!” He hesitated. “Reckon there’s all kinds of apologies comin’ to you, Lockwood. I’m mighty sorry——”