He heard the trickle of water running
between her fingers, her little laugh of half-pleasure, half-fear, which
in another instant broke into a startled scream as he half gained his
feet to meet a crashing body that catapulted at him from the concealment
of the willows.
A greater commotion in the thicket followed the attack; then another
voice, crying out sharply, a second cry from Mary Standish, and he found
himself on his knees, twisted backward and fighting desperately to
loosen a pair of gigantic hands at his throat. He could hear the girl
struggling, but she did not cry out again. In an instant, it seemed, his
brain was reeling. He was conscious of a futile effort to reach his gun,
and could see the face over him, grim and horrible in the gloom, as the
merciless hands choked the life from him. Then he heard a shout, a loud
shout, filled with triumph and exultation as he was thrown back; his
head seemed leaving his shoulders; his body crumbled, and almost
spasmodically his leg shot out with the last strength that was in him.
He was scarcely aware of the great gasp that followed, but the fingers
loosened at his throat, the face disappeared, and the man who was
killing him sank back. For a precious moment or two Alan did not move as
he drew great breaths of air into his lungs.
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