There was a moment of indecision, then resistance, two or three sharp words from the man, and then the two seemed to fade through the wall. The ponderous gate was closing before the dumbfounded watcher could collect his wits. Like a shot he was across the stones, now alive to the meaning of the strange proceeding. With desperate hands he grasped the bar of the gate and pulled, uttering a loud shout of alarm at the same time. Surprised by the sudden interference, the man on the other side gave way and Turk was through the opening and upon him. A stunning blow on the head met him as he hurled himself forward, and he plunged headlong to the ground. As he struggled to his feet another blow fell, and then all was darkness. When he opened his eyes again two figures were careening down the steep path, a hundred yards away. They were running, and were plainly distinguishable in the moonlight. Turk knew that the woman was Dorothy Garrison. He had heard her cry, after the first blow, “Don't! Don't kill him, Father! It is Turk!” Crazed with anger and determined to recapture her single-handed, Turk neglected to call for help. With the blood streaming down his face, he dashed off in pursuit. There was in his heart the desire to kill the man who had struck him down. Near the foot of the hill he came up with them and he was like a wildcat. Miss Garrison had fallen to her knees and was moaning as if in pain. The priest crouched behind her, protecting his person from a possible shot from the pursuer. “For God's sake, don't shoot him!” screamed the girl, but a moment later there was a flash of light, a report, and a pistol ball whizzed by Turk's ear. He was unarmed, but he did not stop. Throwing himself forward, he stretched out his arms to grasp the crouching priest, hoping to prevent the firing of another shot. But he had not reckoned on the cleverness of the man at bay. The priest dropped flat to the ground and Turk plunged over his body, wildly clutching for the prostrate man as he went. With the cunning of a fox, the priest, on realizing that he could not avoid a personal conflict, had looked about for means to end the pursuit effectually. Retarded in his progress by the tired, trembling girl, he saw that a stand against the oncomer was unavoidable. He cleverly selected the spot for this stand, and braced himself as for the onslaught. Scarcely a yard beyond his position there was a sharp declivity among the rocks, with a clear drop of a dozen feet or more to the bottom of a wide crevasse. His shot went wild and he could not repeat it, for Dorothy was frantically clutching his arm. The strategem worked well, and he had the satisfaction of hearing a mighty oath as Turk, unable to check himself, slipped from the edge and went crashing to the rocks below.