A Double Knot

by George Manville Fenn

A few minutes later, as he still kept his eyes upon the man ahead, he slipped off his coat and steadily ran on, easier now that he was freed from this encumbrance.

A mile was covered, then, more slowly, another, and now the exertions of pursuer and pursued showed in the sluggish pace at which they toiled on. Huish’s face was black with the heat, and the veins in his forehead were starting, his breath came thick and fast, and now, dragging off his vest, collar, and tie, one by one, he threw them aside, and seeming to nerve himself as he saw his enemy stagger in his track, he increased his pace.

Fields were everywhere, save that in the distance were the spires of a couple of churches. At the end of a hundred more yards they came suddenly upon a wide expanse of undulating common-land, dotted with clumps of Scotch firs, and tufts of gorse and bracken, offering plenty of places of concealment to a hunted man, could he but reach one unseen.

But Huish was too close, while now the endurance was telling over speed, and as, like a hunted hare, the pursued glanced back with wild and starting eyes, he could see that his pursuer was gaining steadily, and the distance between them becoming short.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows, and glorified the golden gorse and bronzed the dark-green pines, while ever and again a rabbit scuttled away to its safe sanctuary in the sandy earth, and turned as if to gaze pityingly at the hunted stranger. Now and then, too, a blackbird darted away, uttering its alarm note, while high overhead in the peaceful arch of heaven a lark sent forth its trill of joy and peace.

Peace, while war to the death was in preparation for enactment by those two men, who, with bloodshot eyes, hot, dry tongues, and hoarse breathing, stumbled on over the heath and gorse! All around was a scene of silent beauty, such as the wild parts of Surrey can display in the greatest perfection; but bird, wild-flower, the mellow afternoon sunshine, all were as naught to John Huish, who saw but the tottering figure some forty yards ahead, and with his chest seeming to be aflame, the foam at his lip, and the taste of hot blood in his mouth, he toiled on.

“I can go no farther!” panted the man he pursued, as, after wildly looking round for help, he made for a clump of firs, to one of which he clung as if to steady himself as he laid the pistol against the trunk and fired, while his pursuer was twenty yards away.

The bullet whizzed by John Huish’s head as he came on, and there was another report and the strange singing noise of a second bullet, but he passed on unharmed. His bloodshot eyes were fixed upon the half-hidden figure by the fir-tree, now not ten yards away—now not five, as there was a flash, a report, and a jerking feeling in his left arm.

The next moment the hunted man had dropped the pistol and turned to flee, running amongst the trees to where there was a hollow beneath a bank of yellow sand, capped with golden broom, and here he crouched, half turned away, thrusting one arm into a rabbit burrow, pressing himself against the crumbling soil, and literally shrieking in a wild, hoarse way as might some rat that has been hunted into a corner where there is no escape.

As Huish came at him he made another effort to flee, running a few yards, shrieking still in his agony of fear, more like some wild creature than a man. Then in his horror he faced round just as, gathering up his remaining strength, Huish sprang at his breast and they fell, the latter lying upon his enemy’s chest with his hands feebly clasping his throat.