Robbins stooped and picked up a round object that struck at his feet.
“Good heavens! here’s my bullet sent back to me!” he cried.
These words sent a thrill through every heart. Isaac, still lying curled up in a heap where he had fallen, uttered a plaintive howl.
Percy Cute went to him.
“Are you dead, Ike? If you are, say so, and tell us where you would like to be buried,” he said.
Isaac sat up on end, resenting this question.
“Glory!” he cried. “S’pose de debble had shot you, how would you like it?”
“Well, if I warn’t hurt any more than you are, I shouldn’t mind it much. Singed your wool a little, but your Hair Restorer will fix that all right, you know.”
A roar of laughter followed this remark, and in the midst of it Isaac scrambled sheepishly to his feet.