My lungs seemed to rasp my
very ribs, as I struggled for breath. Garrick was bending
anxiously over me, himself pale and gasping yet. The air was
reeking with a smell that I did not understand.
"Thank heaven, you're all right," he exclaimed, with much relief,
as he helped me struggle up on my feet. My head was still in a
whirl as he assisted me over to a cushioned seat in one of the
automobiles standing there. "Now I'll go back to Dillon," he
added, out of breath from the superhuman efforts he was putting
forth both for us and to keep himself together. "Wh--what's the
matter? What happened?" I gasped, gripping the back of the cushion
to steady myself. "Am I wounded? Where was I hit? I--I don't feel
anything--but, oh, my head and throat!"
I glanced over at Dillon. He was pale and white as a ghost, but I
could see that he was breathing, though with difficulty. In the
glare of the headlight of a car which Garrick had turned on him,
he looked ghastly. I looked again to discover traces of blood.
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