He was on his feet, quick as a cat, and running close alongside of the wall of the house.

He heard a thud behind him, still another, and yet a third--they were dropping through the window after him.

Came another shot, an angry hum of the bullet closer than before--then the pound of racing feet.
Jimmie Dale swung around the corner of the house, running at top speed.
Something that was like a hot iron suddenly burned and seared along the side of his head just above the ear.

He reeled, staggered, recovered himself, and dashed on.

It nauseated him, that stinging in his head, and all at once seemed to be draining his strength away.