He leaned against the wall, hanging on weakly and panting for breath, fighting against the terrible faintness that oppressed him and threatened to conquer his reeling brain. That life-and-death struggle had all but drowned him.
Gradually his sight cleared, as air returned to his gasping lungs. There at his feet lay Cowley, stretched out, his head bleeding. Denis’ first thought was that he had struck too hard; dropping to his knees, he breathed quick relief at finding Cowley’s heart beating. The man was only stunned.
A glance at the clearing showed no sign of Ballard’s forces. After all, that battle had taken only a few moments, though it had seemed an age to Denis.
For a little he stood gazing down at Cowley, while strength came back to him and his throbbing lungs drank in the sweet air. To one side lay the handcuffs where he had dropped them. Picking them up, he drew Cowley’s wrists together and snapped the bracelets in place.
“I’ve landed him at last,” he muttered, with a deep sigh of relief. “And it’s a lucky thing for me that I made sure of Smoking Duck first! I can’t leave this fellow to bleed to death, though.”
Searching through Cowley’s pockets, he discovered a ragged bandanna. With this and his own handkerchief he bandaged the man’s bleeding scalp, roughly but effectively. While doing so, Cowley’s eyelids fluttered, then opened.
“Lie still!” cautioned Denis. “You can get up in a minute.”
Cowley lifted his wrists, saw the handcuffs, and relaxed with a low growl. When the bandaging was finished, Denis went to the door of the smaller room and unbarred it. Smoking Duck still reposed on the floor, wide awake and glaring like a trapped beast. Denis turned to the watching Cowley.
“Come along, now, and get in here! Ballard may show up at any minute, and I want you off my hands——”
“Ballard!”