The man struggled with himself for some moments. The strong young body was yielding reluctantly enough to the death-grip. And at last his words gasped haltingly upon the still air.
“Their plugs––wasn’t––fresh. Mine––was. That give––me––the––legs––of ’em. But––they––rode––hard, an’––”
His voice died down to a whistling gasp and his eyes closed. He was sinking fast. Minky forced more brandy between his lips. And presently the drooping eyelids widened, and a momentary strength lifted the weakening body.
“They follered,” he mumbled, “but––I––don’t––know––how––many. ’Bout––three. Three––miles––back––I––I––lost––’em––”
His eyes were glazing and staring painfully. And as his last words hovered on his lips they were drowned by the gurgling and rattling in his throat. Suddenly a shudder passed through his frame. He started, his eyes staring wildly.
“I’m––done!” he gasped. His arms shot up convulsively, his legs flung out. And then all his weight dropped back on to the storekeeper’s supporting arm. The next moment his body seemed to heave as with a deep, restful sigh, and his head lolled helplessly forward. He was dead.