of course, I knew that he was crazy. Whether he was crazy in a
dream or crazy with me awake, I couldn't guess. It made very little
difference, anyhow, for I knew that in another minute I should be either
dream dead or real dead; and dash me if I could see any odds worth
tossing for in either, you know.

But I don't belong to the athletic club quite for nothing, and have
managed to pick up a few tricks, you know. So with the decision to chuck
the dream theory, I shot my leg forward with a mix-up and twist that
made Jenkins loosen his clutch and stagger backward.

"What's the matter with you?" I gasped, advancing toward him. "Are you
trying to murder me?" But I was so hoarse, the only word that came out
plainly was "murder."

Jenkins uttered a howl. "Help, Mr. Lightnut! Murder!"

"You old fool!" I cried, exasperated. "Come here!"

He was coming. He seized a light chair and swung it behind his head.
Then he rushed me with a shout.

"Oh, Mr. Lightnut!"

"Gone clear off his nut!" was my thought. As he swung the chair, I
ducked low, and man and chair went crashing to the floor. But he was up
again in a jiffy and dancing at me.

"Mr. Lightnut, sir, why don't you help me?"

"Help you--you jolly idiot?" I muttered indignantly. Then my voice
raised: "I've a mind to kill you!"

With a yell, he made a kangaroo jump and swung at me again.

"He says he's going to kill me, Mr. Lightnut!" he panted as I dodged
again. "Help me--wake up, sir!"

Wake up? Wake up, indeed, when I had never been so devilish wide awake
in all my life! I was _sure_ now about that. I moved toward him
cautiously.

"Stop your row!" I cried angrily; "you'll have somebody in. Think I want
the police up here?"

With a glare at me, Jenkins darted past me to the bedroom I had just
left. Its light switch clicked, and then back through the brightened
doorway he sprang and dashed for a wall cabinet at the side. He began
tugging at its little drawer. And suddenly I remembered the revolver
there, an old forty-five from a friend in Denver--and loaded!

My spring to intercept him was quick, but not quick enough. Half-way to
him I pulled up under the compelling argument of the long blue barrel
pointed at my head.

"Here! Look out, you fool--it's loaded!" I warned, backing away to the
window.

Jenkins advanced. "What have you done with him?" he panted hoarsely.
"Where is he?"

"Where's who?" I asked savagely, for I was getting devilish tired of it
all.