“Shall I wing him, Mike?” asked the doctor, with the weapon still at a level.
“Folly yer own plisure in that regard; I don’t begrudge ye the enj’yment, as Mrs. O’Flaherty remarked whin she refoosed to fire at the bear that was chasing her husband.”
At that instant, Biggs emitted a howl, and with what was left of his fragmentary hat fluttering to the ground, dashed in a headlong panic through the wood and undergrowth toward the lake.
The sharp crack of the Smith and Wesson rang out, and the fugitive made another bound in air, as if he felt the sting of the bullet, and dived out of sight.
“I missed him on purpose,” remarked the doctor; “he isn’t worth a cartridge, but I’m undecided about you.”
As he spoke he shifted his aim to Saxy Hutt, who was a-tremble with fear.
“I—I—I’ve got an engagement,” he stuttered, beginning to shamble in the direction taken by his companion; “I’ll bid you good day.”
“Hold on!” sharply commanded his master; “wait till I decide what’s best to do with you.”
“Why—why, boss, I haven’t done anything.”
And too weak to stand in his excessive terror, Saxy sagged back and sat down heavily on the log. Mike could not help pitying him.