There, already recovered from the blow which would have killed a man ten times over, he saw the obeah snarling after him. Right down along the path the monster was howling, beating his breast with both huge fists. And, now feeling fear no more than pain, Stern crouched to meet his onslaught. CHAPTER XXV THE GOAL, AND THROUGH IT It all happened in a moment of time, a moment, long--in seeming--as an hour. The girl's revolver crackled, there behind him. Stern saw a little round bluish hole take shape in the obeah's ear, and red drops start. Then with a ghastly screaming, the Thing was upon him. Out struck the engineer, with the rifle-barrel. All the force of his splendid muscles lay behind that blow. The Thing tried to dodge. But Stern had been too quick. Even as it sprang, with talons clutching for the man's throat, the steel barrel drove home on the jaw. An unearthly, piercing yell split the forest air. Then Stern saw the obeah, his jaw hanging oddly awry, all loose and shattered, fall headlong in the path. But before he could strike again, could batter in the base of the tough skull, a moan from Beatrice sent him to her aid. "Oh, God!" he cried, and sank beside her on his knees. On her forehead, as she lay gasping among the bushes, he saw an ugly welt. "A stone? They've hit her with a stone! Killed her, perhaps?" Kneeling there, up he snatched the revolver, and in a deadly fire he poured out the last spitting shots, pointblank in the faces of the crowding rabble. Up he leaped. The rifle barrel flashed and glittered as he whirled it. Like a reaper, laying a clean swath behind him, the engineer mowed down a dozen of the beast-men. Shrieks, grunts, snarls, mingled with his execrations. Then fair into a jabbering ape-face he flung the bloodstained barrel. The face fell, faded, vanished, as hideous illusions fade in a dream. And Stern, with a strength he never dreamed was his, caught up the fainting girl in his left arm, as easily as though she had been a child. Still dragging the spear which pierced his right--his right that yet protected her a little--he ran. Stones, darts, spears, clattered in about him. He heard the swish and tang of them; heard the leaves flutter as the missiles whirled through. Struck? Was he struck again? He knew not, nor cared. Only he thought of shielding Beatrice. Nothing but that, just that! "The gate--oh, let me reach the gate! God! The gate--" And all of a sudden, though how he could not tell, there he seemed to see the gate before him. Could it be? Or was that, too, a dream? A cruel, vicious mockery of his disordered mind? Yes--the gate! It must be! He recognized the giant pine, in a moment of lucidity. Then everything began to dance again, to quiver in the mocking sunlight. "The gate!" he gasped once more, and staggered on. Behind him, a little trail of blood-drops from his wounded arm fell on the trampled leaves.