s gone!

Too late, I remembered my own rifle and fired after him, emptying the
magazine at shadows.

Will's rage and self-contempt were more distressing than the Greek's
spouting knife-wounds.

"By blood and knuckle-bones! Give me that gun of yours, will you! I
go after the swine! I cut his liver out! Where is my knife? Ah,
there it is! Stoop and give it me, for my ribs hurt! So! Now I go
after him!"

We held Coutlass back, making him be still while we tore his shirt in
strips, and then our own, and tried to staunch the blood, Will almost
blubbering with rage while his fingers worked, and the Greek cursing us
both for wasting time.

"He has the box!" he screamed. "He has the rifle!"

"He has no ammunition but what's in the magazine," said I; and that
started Will off swearing at himself all over again from the beginning.

"You damned yegg!" he complained as he knotted two strips of shirt.
"This would never have happened if you hadn't sneaked out to steal the
contents of the box!"

Suddenly Coutlass screamed again, like a mad stallion smelling battle.

"There he is! There the swine is! I see him! I hear him! Give me
that--"

He reached for my rifle, but I was too quick that time and stepped
back out of range of his arm. As I did that the blood burst anew from
his wounds. He put his left hand to his side and scattered the hot
blood up in the air in a sort of votive offering to the gods of Greek
revenge, and, brandishing the long knife, tore away into the dark.

"I see him!" he yelled. "I see the swine! By Gassharamminy! To-night
his naked feet'll blister on the floor of hell!"

We followed him, enthralled by mixed motives made of desire and a sort
of half-genuine respect for the courage of this man, who claimed three
countries and disgraced each one at intervals in turn. We did not go
so fast as he. We were not so enamored of the risks the dark contained.

Suddenly there came out of the blackness just ahead a marrow-curdling
cry--agony, rage, and desperation--that surely no human ever
uttered--roar, yelp of pain, and battle-cry in one.

"Help!" yelled Coutlass. "Help! Oh-ah! Ah!"

We raced forward then, I leading with my rifle thrust forward. A
second later I fired; and that was the only time in my life I ever
touched a lion's face with a rifle muzzle before I pulled the trigger!
The brute fell all in a heap, with Coutlass underneath him and the
Greek's long knife stuck in his sh