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open tin on the ground. As the prowler turned and started back whence he’d come I took more pictures, then put down the camera, rose to my feet, flicked on my flashlight so he’d know I was there, and shouted, “You! Stop! You’re under arrest!”
    But the prowler did not stop. Instead, with the speed of a deer, he fled toward the mill pond, flicking his light in my direction as he did, but never losing a step.
    Shouting loudly, I ran after him, following the bouncing circle of light from my flashlight, but he was fast and I had legs scarred with shrapnel and he pulled away. Down across the meadow we flew, past the mill pond and into the darker darkness of the path beside the stream, where I lost sight of him completely.
    Was I up to a half-mile run? Was he? My breath was already short and my adrenaline was lessening, but I ran on, slower but still fairly well, and the dark trees flowed by me on either side. I was in a coal mine, an endless long barrow, a tunnel leading down to the center of the earth. I pounded on.
    Why was I doing this? I’d done my job already. I had the pictures and I’d given the prowler a scare that should keep him from coming back very soon, if at all.
    Enough of this running. I decided to stop. But my decision was seconds too late. As I pulled up, panting, a dark figure appeared at the rim of my flashlight’s beam and I looked up in time to see an arm pointed at me just before I felt a powerful blow to my chest.
    The blow melted me. I was turned to liquid and flowed down onto the ground unable to control any part of my body. My mind, too, turned to mush. I knew I’d been shot.
    I heard a sound like distant surf and wondered what it was. Gradually the surf turned into voices speaking words I could understand. I listened to them as though from afar, as though they had to do with someone distant from me, floating in space.
    â€œGot the son of a bitch,” said one satisfied voice. “Maybe we should finish him off right here while we have the chance.”
    â€œNobody’s said anything about finishing anybody off,” said another voice.
    â€œYou’ll kill a cat, but not a man, eh?” said the first voice. “At least not until you get paid for it.”
    â€œWe didn’t get hired to kill anybody.”
    â€œNot yet, anyway.”
    â€œWait a minute. Look at him. This isn’t Nunes, it’s somebody else.”
    â€œWhat the hell? You saw the woman at the house; why didn’t you see this guy? Who is he?”
    â€œLemme get his wallet.” I felt hands turning me but I neither wanted nor was able to do anything about it. I was disconnected from all things. “Here. Here’s his ID. Name’s Jackson. Lives in Edgartown. You know anything about him?”
    â€œNo. Jesus. What’s he doing here?”
    â€œHe must be working for Nunes. Damn! What are we going to do with him?”
    Voice One had lost its bravado. “We’re not going to do anything with him. We’re going to get out of here. He’ll be all right.”
    â€œI don’t like this,” said Two. “Some people die when they get hit with one of these guns, you know. They have heart attacks.”
    â€œIf he has a heart attack, we’ll be long gone. Besides, he’ll be O.K. Look. He’s breathing. Come on. I’ll buy you a beer.”
    The voices ceased and I lay there in pieces until, slowly, my parts began to be reattached to one another and my mind began to work more coherently. After a while I sat up. It was black as the pit from pole to pole.
    I put out a hand and it found my flashlight. I pushed the switch and the light went on. I was confused but finally realized that my attackers had turned it off. I wondered fuzzily about that, then, as my mind got clearer, guessed that it was because they could see very well with their infrared flashlights and didn’t want my white beam to attract attention.
    I sat