CHAPTER XIX
THE ESCAPE (Continued)
VARGE swerved instantly to the right, flung himself flat on the ground and began to crawl.
"Cr-rang! Cr-rang! Cr-rang!"—the shots followed each other in quick succession from the bridge. Kingman was aiming at the spot where Varge had disappeared—and he was aiming low. The bullets hummed angrily, swishing a path through the leaves at the height of the small of a man's back, ending with a vicious "spat" as they found lodgment in the stouter limbs.
Still Varge crawled—every second, every instant counted; but, though now out of the line of fire, the foliage was still too thin—to rise and run was to mark his passage by a trail of swaying bushes, and offer himself for an almost sure and certain shot. A little further, just a little further on the bushes grew thicker—and then the woods.
Would Kingman follow him alone—or wait to gather a posse? The alarm, in the lower part of the village at least, was already given. Like a low, sullen murmur came the sound of many, many voices—then it welled, bursting into shouts and cries—and he could distinguish amongst them the high-pitched, falsetto notes of excited women.
Would Kingman follow him alone—and if he did? Just a few yards further on now and he would be deep
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