"Chuck!" screamed the rifleman, and jinked like a hare.
Kit saw the gleam of a white waistcoat, and flung with all his might.
The pebble sped true as that which slew Goliath.
It took effect between the fourth and fifth button. Down went the Gentleman with a windy groan, as though the soul was being sucked out of his body.
Knapp, the pressure relieved, was his Cockney self again in a second. He swung on at a leisurely trot with the flick of heel, and swagger of elbow, peculiar to the crack taking his ease.
"Thank-ye!" he called, pert and patronising. "Lucky shot!"
"Run, fool, run!" yelled Kit. "The sentry!"
On the crest of the hill, against the sky-line, the sentry was kneeling as he took aim.
"What!—eh!—oh!—im?—blime!" and Knapp buckled to again in earnest.
The sentinel fired.