The figure seemed to run faster than before.

Hal paused and leveled his revolver in deliberate aim. His finger
tightened on the trigger--then, suddenly he let his arm fall.

"Stubbs!" he cried in amazement.

The running figure was indeed the little war correspondent.

"By Jove!" muttered Hal. "Another moment and I would have shot him." He
raised his voice in a shout: "Hey, Stubbs!"

But the little man ran on, unheeding.

"He'll run right smack into that other fellow if he doesn't watch out,"
Hal told himself. "Well, I suppose I'll have to stop him."

Still holding his revolver in his right hand, he also broke into a run
and made after the fleeing Stubbs.

Several times he called, but Stubbs paid no heed. Then Hal grew angry.

"I'll get you if I have to chase you right back to the door of the _New
York Gazette_" he muttered to himself.

He gained at every stride and was rapidly overtaking the war
correspondent, although Stubbs, with head lowered, looking neither to the
right nor to the left, his arms working like pistons, ran blindly on.

Suddenly Hal stopped almost in his tracks and his heart leaped into