Several minutes went by. There was not a sound save the restless
patter of rain in the tree tops. At last the faraway thud of footsteps
came to the ears of the tense listener. They drew nearer, louder, and
once more seemed to be approaching the very spot where he crouched. He
had the uncanny feeling that in a moment or two more the foot of the
sentinel would come in contact with his rigid body, and that he would
not have the power to suppress the yell of dismay that--
Then came the sound of a dull, heavy blow, a hoarse gasp, a momentary
commotion in the shrubbery, and--again silence. Barnes's blood ran
cold. He waited for the next footfall of the passing man. It never
came.
A sharp whisper reached his ears. "Come here--quick!"
He floundered through the brush and almost fell prostrate over the
kneeling figure of a man.
"Take care! Lend a hand," whispered Sprouse.
Dropping to his knees, Barnes felt for and touched wet, coarse
garments, and gasped:
"My God! Have you--killed him?"
"Temporarily," said Sprouse, between his teeth. "Here, unwind the rope
I've got around my waist. Take the end--here. Got a knife? Cut off a
section about three feet long. I'll get the gag in his mouth while
you're doing it.
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