the wall, and she was smothered in the arms of Roy Glenister.

"My God! Don't move! We're in line!"

He crouched over her, his cheek against her hair, his weight
forcing her down into the smallest compass, his arms about her,
his body forming a living shield against the flying bullets. Over
them the big man stood, and the sustained roar of his gun was
deafening. In an instant they heard the thud and felt the jar of
lead in the thin boards against which they huddled. Again the
report echoed above their heads, and they saw the slender man in
the street drop his weapon and spin half round as though hit with
some heavy hand. He uttered a cry and, stooping for his gun,
plunged forward, burying his face in the sand.

The man by Glenister's side shouted curses thickly, and walked
towards his prostrate enemy, firing at every step. The wounded man
rolled to his side, and, raising himself on his elbow, shot twice,
so rapidly that the reports blended--but without checking his
antagonist's approach. Four more times the relentless assailant
fired deliberately, his last missile sent as he stood over the
body which twitched and shuddered at his feet, its garments muddy
and smeared. Then he turned and retraced his steps. Back within
arm's-length of the two who pressed against the building he came,
and as he went by they saw his coarse and sullen features drawn
and working pallidly, while the breath whistled through his teeth.
He held his course to the door they had just quitted, then as he
turned he coughed bestially, spitting out a mouthful of blood. His
knees wavered. He vanished within the portals and, in the sickly
silence that fell, they heard his hob-nailed boots clumping slowly