“You won’t prevent it this time,” cried Bogle.
He tore loose from Raikes, and pulled the hammer of the rifle back. He took hasty aim at Brick, who gave himself up for dead. Then Raikes snatched the barrel of the weapon, and knocked it upward. The two men struggled for its possession, swaying backward and forward. Raikes was comparatively cool. Bogle was insane with passion. The latter slipped and came to his knees, dragging Raikes after him.
“Let go!” he cried, with a violent oath.
“No,” refused Raikes. “You shan’t murder the lad. You don’t know what you are doing, Joe.”
Snap! Bang! The weapon had gone off. Raikes’ nerveless fingers let go of the barrel. Without a cry, he toppled over on his side. When the smoke cleared, a few seconds later, his white face stared up at the roof, and from his forehead trickled a little stream of blood.
Brick looked on, mute with horror. The sad disaster instantly sobered Bogle. He dropped the rifle, and staggered to his feet. Then he bent over his companion, and rubbed the white, still face.
“Silas! Silas!” he called, hoarsely.
There was no movement or reply. Bogle groaned aloud, and covered his face with his hands.
It was then that the thought of escape flashed into Brick’s mind. The odds were against him, but anything was preferable to staying here at the ruffian’s mercy.
Snatching up the rifle, he sped across the floor. He reached the door, and flung it open. A hoarse cry rang in his ears as he leaped across the threshold. He ran on without even a backward glance.