This was my first desperate experience. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run on and save myself and I wanted to help Smiler. Something⁠—I don’t know what it was, but I don’t think it was courage or bravery⁠—turned me around and I ran back through the shrubbery to a spot opposite the window from which the shot had been fired. In the clear moonlight I could see that it was raised about six inches and one of its lower panes was shattered.

The house was still in darkness. There was no sound inside. I must have been in a panic still. No sane-thinking human would have done what I did next. I ran out in front of the window to Smiler, and standing over him, put my arms under his, lifting him slowly to his feet. Blood was streaming out of his mouth. He slowly and weakly put one arm around my neck. I held it there, grasping the hand that hung limply over my shoulder, and with my other arm around his waist slowly dragged him to the gate and out into the alley where he collapsed. His dead weight was too much for me. I let his body slip gently to the ground. A twitching shudder ran through him. He straightened out on his back and threw his arms wide. He was dead.