CHAPTER III

A DUBIOUS REFUGE


I was going so fast that everything seemed to happen simultaneously.
I had one blurred vision of him spinning round and yelling to me to
stop: then the next moment I had flashed past him and was racing
across the bridge.

Whether he recognized me for certain I can't say. I think not, or he
would probably have fired sooner than he did: as it was, my rush had
carried me three quarters of the way up the opposite hill before he
could make up his mind to risk a shot.

Bang went his carbine, and at the same instant, with a second loud
report, the tire of my back wheel abruptly collapsed. It was a good
shot if he had aimed for it, and what's more it came unpleasantly
near doing the trick. The old bike swerved violently, but with a wild
wrench I just succeeded in righting her. For a second I heard him
shouting and running behind me, and then, working like a maniac, I
bumped up the rest of the slope, and disappeared over the protecting
dip at the top.

Of my progress for the next mile or so I have only the most
confused recollection. It was like one of those ghastly things that