CHAPTER XXVIII.
IN THE HOSPITAL.
As he doubled the nearest corner, like a hare with the hounds close upon it, Jack uttered a wild shout for help. He hoped that somebody might hear it.
But there was no result from his appeal for aid. Were there no policemen in New York?
The street he had blindly doubled into was lined on each side by tall, dark, silent warehouses. The blank walls echoed back the sound of his flying feet and the heavy footfalls of those in pursuit.
Jack realized, with a thrill of dismay, that they were gaining on him. He heard the heavy exhalation and intake of the runners’ breaths.
Suddenly one of his pursuers whipped out a revolver and fired.
The audacity of the deed sent Jack’s heart racing faster than before. A man who would dare to fire a revolver on a New York street, dark and deserted though it was, would hardly stick at any act of violence.
“If I can’t throw them off, it’s all up with me,” thought the boy.