Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 73: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Rogues’ End 63 | “into a narrow trail that led through the chaparral down the mountainside. Throughout I made it appear that I was rather clumsily and nervously trying to escape unseen. Of course, my intention was precisely the opposite, I assumed that Hardridge would be as easily fooled in such matters as the average city-bred man. Hl IT WAS a quite dark night. A low, thin mist had drifted up from the sea, and through it the light of the stars and of a ghostly half-moon filtered uncertainly. From the beginning of the trail I looked back a scant twenty yards to the house and saw only a bulky gray shadow. Besides that and the near-by chaparral I could see nothing. The light of the string of villages from the foot of Tamalpais to the ferry passage, the inter- mittent flash of Alcatraz and even the white radiance that San Francisco usually flings against the sky were all blotted out by the mist. So, although I knew that humanity, society and the law were all very close at hand, it didn’t seem so strange that I should be crouching primitively in the edge of the brush, my nerves strung up, straining my senses for a sign of Hardridge. Which wasn’t long coming. The chaparral crackled to my right. A cautious foot planted itself on the roadway—I judged about thirty paces lower down. There were more footsteps; Hardridge came closer. Just when, by craning my neck out of the brush, I could see him outlined shadowily, I made a slight noise with my foot. Instantly a_ revolver cracked, and the bullet hit the road a little beyond me. And instantly I had turned and was moving cautiously—yet not so cautiously that Hardridge could not hear my move- ments—down the trail. Hardridge, of course, started in pursuit, as I had intended, and—ostensibly hunted, really hunter—I quickened my flight. I made only enough noise so that the sound of my movements would come to Hard- ridge’s ears above the noise of his own. hich was really considerable. Hard- Tidge’s pursuit, at once freighted by excess of caution and hurried by hate, was so laughably awkward that I knew—barring accidents—I'd be able to accomplish at least the first item of my plan. The trail here descended sharply. On both sides the shrubbery was as thick as an abandoned vineyard. Here and there low chaparral thrust arresting, thorn- tipped branches across the trail and tore at my flesh and clothing. Underfoot the ground was uneven, uncertain, strewn with small stones that were easily dislodged and with dead leaves that crackled. Still I was able in some way to control the sound of my passage and to move with less and less of noise every minute. Hardridge was now about twenty yards behind me, but he was rapidly lessening the distance. Also, he was rapidly lessen- ing his caution. Probably the diminishing sound of my flight excited him with the thought that I was escaping. Now and then I purposely broke a twig or brushed a branch so he’d know I was still in motion. Once, straightening up, I thrust my head above the chaparral. He fired, but I had ducked out of sight again before his finger jerked the trigger. I intended the move- ment to enrage him still further, like a mocking gesture. The game was, I suppose, slightly unfair, for Hardridge was blinded both by passion and inexperience. But he had brought it on himself. Besides, as things stood now, I was really working toward the end Hard- ridge himself desired. At least I so believed. A little farther and my flight ended. The trail led straight on, but to the right a narrow opening between two clumps of shrubbery attracted me. I stopped oppo- site that opening, drew up my feet and backed into it. Then I picked up a pebble and tossed it down the trail. It struck the ground perhaps five yards beyond where I lay and bounced and rolled a little. Hardridge probably believed, as I in- tended he should, that the pebble had been dislodged by my foot. Anyway, he came blindly on until I could have reached out and touched him. There he stopped as if he had sensed my nearness and was men- tally feeling for me. If it hadn’t been for his labored breathing, he might have heard me stir and set myself for the leap. As it was, the butt of my revolver crashed against his forehead while he still stood