“Of course. Fire away.”
“No, no; it would be too bad.”
“Fire—away!” said Blunt in a stern, angry tone; and feeling at once the impulse to obey, the lad held his rifle up pistol-wise at arm’s-length, drew the trigger, and then, as the report rang out, winced at the kick the piece gave, and as the smoke rose, stared in horror at the result of his shot.
Chapter Twenty Two.
“’Top Littlee!”
Stan Lynn had good reason to stare, for at the sharp report of the rifle poor Wing’s aspect of being a part of the gable disappeared instantly. He sprang to his feet with one hand clapped to his chest, the other reaching round to his back, both busily searching for his wound, as he uttered a dismal cry.
The next moment both hands were in the air clutching for something to hold on by so as to save himself, but clutching in vain. For his foot as he stood erect had slipped on the sharp slope of the tiled gable-end, and in far less time than it has taken to describe the catastrophe, the poor fellow had fallen upon his back and was sliding rapidly down.