and there. Pierre thought at first that he could not step. He was faint and sick. They had mortally wounded him, just as they had the Killer.
Then the sense of self-preservation asserted itself. He must flee. If he stayed there, they would surely kill him. So he set his teeth, and his splendid fighting strength came to his aid.
His ancestors had all been good fighters, and why not he?
He must flee, but where? It did not matter much as long as he ran fast and far. So he sped away on three legs, leaving his companion in this desperate night's work dead in the sheep pasture.
They fired two or three more shots at him but finally he disappeared and the fusillade ceased.
But poor Pierre still seemed to hear the
