He sought his black bottle for Dutch courage; but before he could raise it to his bloodless lips, the wounded man perceived him, and he gave a cry of terror.
"Keep off!" cried Mole, his teeth rattling like a box of dominoes.
The wounded man, half blind as he was and frightened out of what little sense remained to him, took the black bottle for another revolver such as Nabley had carried; and having a wholesome dread of that terrible weapon, he cowered down, hiding his face on the ground.
"Don't be violent," exclaimed the wretched Mole.
"Mercy, mercy!" implored the brigand.
"Have pity on me," said Mole, in abject terror.
"Do as you please with me," whined the brigand, "only for mercy's sake don't fire again at such a poor wretch as I am."
"Think of my helpless condition," said Mole.
"I am done to death," said the brigand.
"I have two wooden legs," gasped Mole.