The corpse that he would have mutilated
had staggered suddenly to its feet, flinging the dead bodies to one
side as it rose.
"You fiend!" broke from the lips of the dead man, and the ghoul
turned and fled, gibbering in his fright.
The tramp of soldiers in the street beyond ceased suddenly at the
sound from within the factory yard. It was a detail of the guard
marching to the relief of sentries. A moment later the gates swung
open and a score of soldiers entered. They saw a figure dodging
toward the wall a dozen paces from them, but they did not see the
other that ran swiftly around the corner of the factory.
This other was Barney Custer of Beatrice. When the command to fire
had been given to the squad of riflemen, a single bullet had creased
the top of his head, stunning him. All day he had lain there
unconscious. It had been the tugging of the ghoul at his ring that
had roused him to life at last.
Behind him, as he scurried around the end of the factory building,
he heard the scattering fire of half a dozen rifles, followed by a
scream--the fleeing hyena had been hit. Barney crouched in the
shadow of a pile of junk. He heard the voices of soldiers as they
gathered about the wounded man, questioning him, and a moment later
the imperious tones of an officer issuing instructions to his men to
search the yard. That he must be discovered seemed a certainty to
the American.
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