Then as at last he topped the rise of a hill, the screaming broke out again, shrill and frightful, close at hand, and the next instant he saw beneath him in the valley a hundred yards away that for which he had run so far.

Running up the slope below, at right angles to his own path came Frank, in the dress-clothes he had borrowed, with pumps upon his feet; his hands were outstretched, his face white as ashes, and he screamed as he ran.
Behind him ran a pack of persons whose faces he could not see; they ran like hounds, murmuring as they came in a terrible whining voice.

Then Jack understood that he could save Frank; he brought his gun to the shoulder, aimed it at the brown of the pack and drew the trigger.

A snap followed, and he discovered that he was unloaded; he groped in his cartridge-belt and found it empty....

He tore at his pockets, and found at last one cartridge; and as he dashed it into the open breach, his gun broke in half.