Slowly recovering from the shock, the Sergeant staggered down the ravine, crying, “Come on!” to the others who followed him one by one as they recovered their senses.  On the other side of the slope lay Kalman and the woman.  It was Paulina.  At a little distance was Malkarski, or Kalmar, as he must be called, and where the cabin had been a great hole, and at some distance from it a charred and blackened shape of a man writhing in agony, the clothes still burning upon him.

Brown rushed down to the Creek, and with a hatful of water extinguished the burning clothes.

“Water! water!” gasped the wretch faintly.

“Bring him some water, some one,” said Brown, who was now giving his attention to Kalman.  But no one heeded him.

Old Portnoff found a can, and filling it at the stream, brought it to the group on the slope.  In a short time they began to revive, and before long were able to stand.  Meantime, the wretched Rosenblatt was piteously crying for water.

“Oh, give him some water,” said Kalman to Brown, who was anxiously taking his pulse.

Brown took the can over, gave the unhappy wretch a drink, pouring the rest over his burned and mangled limbs.  The explosion had shattered the lower part and one side of Rosenblatt’s body, leaving untouched his face and his right arm.

The Sergeant took charge of the situation.

“You I arrest,” he said, taking old Kalmar by the shoulder.

“Very well; it matters not,” said the old man, holding up his hands for the handcuffs.

“Can anything be done for this man?” asked the Sergeant, pointing to Rosenblatt.

“Nothing.  He can only live a few minutes.”

Rosenblatt looked up and beckoned the Sergeant toward him.

“I would speak with you,” he said faintly.

The Sergeant approached, bringing Kalmar along with him.

“You need not fear, I shall not try to escape,” said Kalmar.  “I give you my honour.”

“Very well,” said the Sergeant, turning from him to Rosenblatt.  “What do you wish?”

“Come nearer,” said the dying man.

The Sergeant kneeled down and leaned over him to listen.  With a quick movement Rosenblatt jerked the pistol from the Sergeant’s belt and fired straight at old Kalmar, turned the pistol toward Kalman and fired again.  But as he levelled his gun for the second time, Paulina, with a cry, flung herself upon Kalman, received the bullet, and fell to the ground.  With a wild laugh, Rosenblatt turned the pistol on himself, but before he could fire the Sergeant had wrested it from his hand.

“Aha,” he gasped, “I have my revenge!”

“Fool!” said old Kalmar, who was being supported by his son.  “Fool!  You have only done for me what I would have done for myself.”

With a snarl as of a dog, Rosenblatt sank back upon the ground, and with a shudder lay still.

“He is dead,” said Brown.  “God’s mercy meet him!”