CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
"Revenge at first though sweet, Bitter erelong, back on itself recoils." -- MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.
At the instant of discharging his revolver, Jackson felt a sharp stinging pain in his right arm, and it dropped useless at his side.

He hoped he had killed both Mr.Travilla and Elsie; but, an arrant coward and thus disabled, did not dare to remain a moment to learn with certainty the effect of his shot, but rushing along the veranda, threw himself over the railing, and sliding down a pillar, by the aid of the one hand, and with no little pain and difficulty, made off with all speed across the lawn.
But he was bleeding at so fearful a rate that he found himself compelled to pause long enough to improvise a tourniquet by knotting his handkerchief above the wound, tying it as tightly as he could with the left hand aided by his teeth.

He stooped and felt on the ground in the darkness and rain, for a stick, by means of which to tighten it still more; for the bleeding, though considerably checked, was by no means stanched.

But sticks, stones, and every kind of litter, had long been banished thence; his fingers came in contact with nothing but the smooth, velvety turf, and with a muttered curse, he rose and fled again; for the flashing of lights, the loud ringing of a bell, peal after peal, and sounds of running feet and many voices in high excited tones, told him there was danger of a quick and hot pursuit.
Clearing the lawn, he presently struck into a bridle-path that led to the woods.

Here he again paused to search for the much-needed stick, found one suited to his purpose, and by its aid succeeded in decreasing still more the drain upon his life current; yet could not stop the flow entirely.
But sounds of pursuit began to be heard in the distance, and he hastened on again, panting with weakness, pain and affright.