Unfortunately the surgeon had no pistols with him.
“Well done, my boy!” he cried, as he saw the effect of my shot; “that’s reduced the odds against us, at any rate.”
“Do give us a hand, Jack,” cried Charlie, making a fresh but equally futile attempt to struggle to his feet. “I’m sure I can do something to help.”
“Just you shut up, Charlie!” I said angrily; “you’re only balking me at the moment when—”
I broke off short, for a bullet from a pistol whizzed so close to my head that it almost grazed my temple.
Two of our antagonists, who possessed pistols, had opened fire upon us at almost point-blank range. It was fortunate for us that they were so poorly supplied with firearms. Had it been otherwise, our chances of success would have been slender indeed.
The surgeon stood unscathed, his bright sword-blade flashing in the sunlight. He was a Scotsman, tall, lithe, muscular, and a very good fencer. I felt sure that he would make very short work of an indifferent swordsman, however powerful an individual the latter might be. For all we knew, however, the unprepossessing men who were bearing down upon us might be adepts at wielding the cutlasses which they were waving defiantly in the air as they bounded along.
“Blaze away with your revolver, my lad!” shouted the doctor. “Don’t let them all come to close quarters.”
I had already taken aim with my Colt, trusting to make another gap in the little detachment before it rushed in upon us. Sharply the report rang out, the surgeon gave an exultant shout, and as two villanous-looking fellows charged in upon us with glaring eyeballs and features distorted with rage, I caught a hasty glance of the man I had covered with my pistol writhing on the ground and uttering horrible imprecations. I afterwards discovered that I had shot him in the right shoulder, and had thus effectually debarred him from taking part in the conflict.
The odds were thus made even, but I felt that even man for man we had our work cut out for us, for both our antagonists, though rather below middle size, were square-built, powerful-looking fellows. Their brawny, sunburnt throats and chests were bare, and the rolled-up sleeves of their loose jackets displayed muscles and sinews of which any athlete might have been proud.