The Crimson Blind

by Fred M. White

The big stone was poised over Henson's head. He could see the jagged part, and in imagination feel it go smashing into his brain. The time for action had come. He snatched at Merritt's right arm and drew the knotted fingers down. The next instant and he had bitten Merritt's thumb to the bone. With a cry of rage and pain the stone was dropped. Henson snatched it up and fairly lifted Merritt off his chest with a blow under the chin.

Merritt rolled over on the grass, and Henson was on his feet in an instant. The great stone went down perilously near to Merritt's head. Still snarling and frothing from the pain Merritt stumbled to his feet and dashed a blow blindly at the other.

In point of size and strength there was only one in it. Had Henson stood up to his opponent on equal terms there could only have been one issue. But his nerves were shattered, he was nothing like the man he had been two months ago. At the first onslaught he turned and fled towards the town, leaving Merritt standing there in blank amazement.

"Frightened of me," he muttered. "But this ain't the way it's going to finish."

He darted off in hot pursuit; he raced across a rising shoulder of the hill and cut off Henson's retreat. The latter turned and scurried back in the direction of Long-dean Grange, with Merritt hot on his heels. He could not shake the latter off.

Merritt was plodding doggedly on, pretty sure of his game. He was hard as nails, whereas good living and a deal of drinking, quite in a gentlemanly way, had told heavily on Henson. Unless help came unexpectedly Henson was still in dire peril. There was just a chance that a villager might be about; but Longdean was more or less a primitive place, and most of the houses there had been in darkness for hours.

His foot slipped, he stumbled, and Merritt, with a whoop of triumph, was nearly upon him. But it was only a stagger, and he was soon going again. Still, Merritt was close behind him; Henson could almost feel his hot breath on his neck. And he was breathing heavily and distressfully himself, whilst he could hear how steadily Merritt's lungs were working. He could see the lights of Longdean Grange below him; but they seemed a long way off, whilst that steady pursuit behind had something relentless and nerve-destroying about it.

They were pounding through the village now. Henson gave vent to one cry of distress, but nothing came of it but the mocking echo of his own voice from a distant belt of trees. Merritt shot out a short, sneering laugh. He had not expected flagrant cowardice like this. He made a sudden spurt forward and caught Henson by the tail of his coat.

With a howl of fear the latter tore himself away, and Merritt reeled backwards. He came down heavily over a big stone, and at the same moment Henson trod on a hedge-stake. He grabbed it up and half turned upon his foe. But the sight of Merritt's grim face was too much for him, and he turned and resumed his flight once more.

He yelled again as he reached the lodge-gates, but the only response was the barking and howling of the dogs in the thick underwood beyond. There was no help for it. Doubtless the deaf old lodge-keeper had been in bed hours ago. Even the dogs were preferable to Merritt. Henson scrambled headlong over the wall and crashed through the thickets beyond.