But the figure, whoever or whatever it was, ran on.

It now had reached the top of the dam, and could be seen with more or less distinctness, sky-lined against the starlight and the gray sky behind it.
Sim Gage, old-time hunter, used all his life to firearms, was used also to firing at running game.

He drew down now deep into the rear sight of his Springfield, allowing for the faint light, and held at the front edge of the running figure as nearly as he could tell.

He fired once, twice and three times--rap!--rap!--rap!--the echo came from the concrete--at the figure as it crouched and stumbled on.

Then it stopped.