The shouts, the shots, the running feet became like a curious buzzing in his ears.

It seemed strange that they should have hit him, that he should be wounded! If he could only reach the low stone wall by the road, he could at least make a fight for his life on the other side! Red streaks swam before Jimmie Dale's eyes.

The wall was such a long way off--a yard or two was a very long way more to go--the weakness seemed to be creeping up now even to numb his brain.

No, here was the wall--they hadn't hit him again--he laughed in a demented way--and rolled his body over, and fell to the other side.
"JIMMIE!" The cry seemed to reach some inner consciousness, revive him, send the blood whipping through his veins.

That voice! It was her--HERS! The Tocsin! There was an automobile, engine racing, standing there in the road.