“Not you, you fool!” I said hoarsely.  “Not you!” But he hid Nettie nevertheless.

By an enormous effort I resisted a mechanical impulse to shoot through his fat body.  Anyhow, I knew I mustn’t shoot him.  For a moment I was in doubt, then I became very active, turned aside abruptly and dodged his pawing arm to the left, and so found two others irresolutely in my way.  I fired a third shot in the air, just over their heads, and ran at them.  They hastened left and right; I pulled up and faced about within a yard of a foxy-faced young man coming sideways, who seemed about to grapple me.  At my resolute halt he fell back a pace, ducked, and threw up a defensive arm, and then I perceived the course was clear, and ahead of me, young Verrall and Nettie—­he was holding her arm to help her—­running away.  “Of course!” said I.

I fired a fourth ineffectual shot, and then in an access of fury at my misses, started out to run them down and shoot them barrel to backbone.  “These people!” I said, dismissing all these interferences. . . .  “A yard,” I panted, speaking aloud to myself, “a yard!  Till then, take care, you mustn’t—­mustn’t shoot again.”

Some one pursued me, perhaps several people—­I do not know, we left them all behind. . . .

We ran.  For a space I was altogether intent upon the swift monotony of flight and pursuit.  The sands were changed to a whirl of green moonshine, the air was thunder.  A luminous green haze rolled about us.  What did such things matter?  We ran.  Did I gain or lose? that was the question.  They ran through a gap in a broken fence that sprang up abruptly out of nothingness and turned to the right.  I noted we were in a road.  But this green mist!  One seemed to plough through it.  They were fading into it, and at that thought I made a spurt that won a dozen feet or more.

She staggered.  He gripped her arm, and dragged her forward.  They doubled to the left.  We were off the road again and on turf.  It felt like turf.  I tripped and fell at a ditch that was somehow full of smoke, and was up again, but now they were phantoms half gone into the livid swirls about me. . . .

Still I ran.

On, on!  I groaned with the violence of my effort.  I staggered again and swore.  I felt the concussions of great guns tear past me through the murk.

They were gone!  Everything was going, but I kept on running.  Once more I stumbled.  There was something about my feet that impeded me, tall grass or heather, but I could not see what it was, only this smoke that eddied about my knees.  There was a noise and spinning in my brain, a vain resistance to a dark green curtain that was falling, falling, falling, fold upon fold.  Everything grew darker and darker.

I made one last frantic effort, and raised my revolver, fired my penultimate shot at a venture, and fell headlong to the ground.  And behold! the green curtain was a black one, and the earth and I and all things ceased to be.