We heard a sudden scuffle in the road, and saw a giant figure rush by us, throwing a silhouette on the roadway. It turned, faced about and crouched as another figure darted from the woods across the road. Then the figure crouching made a spring, and the two swayed to and fro before us like great phantoms, and then the figures separated, and one started down the Highway followed by the other at breakneck speed. Then we heard the voice of Oakes from somewhere: "Halt! or I'll shoot." The fugitives stopped, ducked, dashed toward us and by us, into the woods, and after them came the report of Oakes's revolver--we knew it by the quick, high-pitched note--and then--Oakes himself. It was evident to us he had fired in the air, for we all saw the small flame point heavenward as his weapon was discharged. Neither fugitive slackened his speed, but both rushed across the plains east by northeast into the face of the moon as it rose off the plateau of Mona. "What is who?" gasped Moore. "The which?" I answered, as a polar chill chased up my spine. "Oh, the d----l!" soliloquized Elliott. "See, the second man limps--he must be O'Brien; he is chasing the first one," whispered the doctor as we gazed into the night. "And Oakes is cavorting after the bunch--I play him straight and place," spoke Elliott; "he is gaining." We watched Oakes, fleeter than ever, steadier, disappear in the distance as the moon entered a passing cloud-bank and all became lonesome and dark. "Let's get on the plain," said Elliott, and we crawled as best we could out of the woods toward the place where the three were last seen by us. "Let's be in at the finish," I cried, and we started in the dim steely haze of the obscured moon to follow the chase. Darkness impenetrable came on, and suddenly a wild moan of anguish reached us--an awful, convulsive cry of terror. It neared us and was in our very neighborhood--in our midst--and again away; and with it came the rush of feet, heavy and tired, and soon the light tread of the pursuer--the athletic, soft tread of Oakes. I shall never forget that cry of terror. It was as though the soul had left the body in anguish--it was a cry of fear greater than man seemed capable of uttering. From out of the darkness came the voice of Moore: "A maniac in terror!" Then the heavy tread was upon us again, a body darted past me, and the heavy revolver spoke again. I felt a stinging sensation in my arm, a numbness, a feeling of dread and of fear; then I reeled and recovered, and looking around me saw the figure dashing away like mad. The moon was uncovering again, and the fighting instinct of the brute was aroused within me. I knew I was wounded, but it was a trivial matter. I felt the surging of blood to my brain, the pumping of my heart, the warmth and glow of the body that comes when one rallies from fear or surprise, and the next instant I was off in pursuit.