“Good!” thought Dick to himself. “He can’t hit me that way, and his shells will soon be gone.”
Five times Orizaba fired, and each time the bullet went wild.
Shirley, from her place of safety, watched the encounter breathlessly. She stood with clenched fists and awaited the outcome of each shot anxiously.
A sixth time Orizaba’s revolver spoke.
Dick staggered, and Shirley gave utterance to a scream, while a laugh of derision came from the Nicaraguan.
But the latter’s mirth was destined to be short-lived. Dick, still with a smile on his face in spite of the dull pain in his left arm where Orizaba’s last bullet had struck, stepped forward to meet his enemy in his mad rush.
They came together with a shock and tumbled to the ground, where Orizaba clawed desperately at Dick’s face and eyes.
“So that’s your game, eh?” muttered Dick to himself.
He protected his face with his injured arm, while with the uninjured one he rained a shower of blows upon the Nicaraguan’s face. The latter soon tired of this and sprang to his feet. Dick also arose.
There was a cry of alarm from Shirley as Orizaba stepped back. His hand went to his belt, and a knife flashed in the air. But Dick, quick as a cat, gave him no time to use it.