The wet fronds brushed his face, and here and there his fingers sank into a patch of snow, but he found its chilly touch curiously pleasant, and once clawed up a handful and thrust it into his mouth.  A numbness was creeping over him, his head felt curiously heavy, but he was scheming for his life with the instinctive cunning of a wounded beast rather than reason.  There was now a sound behind him, but it was dulled by the roar of the river, which he realized would drown the faint rustle he made, and, when the fern grew scantier, dragged himself across an opening and crawled in amidst the raspberry briars on the other side.

The thorns scarred his face and ripped his hands, but he moved amidst them to clear space for his arms, and then lay still with the big knife beneath him.  A shaft of moonlight shone down a few yards away, and he had no desire to betray his hiding-place by the glint of steel.  It was also possible that he might have crawled away beyond the reach of discovery into the shadows, but that was not his intention, for, though he could never decide afterwards whether he acted from instinct or reasoned his course out, he was bent on waiting for, and not escaping from, his pursuer.  Nor did he know how long he waited, but it seemed a very long while before he saw a shadowy object move round and afterwards into the opposite side of the thicket.

Then the man’s face became visible as he moved across the shaft of moonlight.  It was set and grey, the mouth was awry, and there was fear in the staring eyes.  It also seemed to Alton curiously familiar, but his brain was scarcely capable of receiving many diverse impressions just then, and he only realized that it was reluctantly and because his safety demanded it, the man was looking for him.  Alton felt a little relief at that.  He was growing colder, and there was a bewildering dimness in his eyes, but he stiffened the muscles of his arms and tightened his grasp on the knife, wondering if his strength would last until he had his hands upon his enemy.

The man swayed forward as he crossed the strip of moonlight with a little spring, then came on again with both hands on the rifle, waist-deep in the fern, glancing down momentarily at the trail his victim had made, and then about him again.  Alton’s face was drawn up into a very grim smile as he lay amidst the raspberries watching him, for it was evident that the assassin fancied he had crawled straight on.  The latter stopped once for several seconds, and Alton heard his heart thumping while the sound of the river seemed to grow bewildering.  He stiffened his fingers upon the knife-haft savagely, for the horrible faintness he could not shake off was growing upon him.

Then with a little jerk of his shoulders the man who caught sight of the opening moved again, faster than he had done, and the watcher surmised that fear and savagery struggled for the mastery within him.  The latter apparently rose uppermost, for he came straight on through the thicket, sprang across the clear space, and would have plunged into the bush beyond it but that Alton, reaching out caught him by the ankle.  Then he lurched forward with a hoarse cry, went down, and rolled over with Alton’s hand at his throat, and the blade of the knife driven through the inner side of the sleeve of his jacket.