“Yes; a pocketful.”
“Don’t waste them, then. One will be sufficient to silence an enemy. We must wing him—that will be sufficient. I say!”
“Yes, what?”
“Bob Tregelly would not knock at the door like this, would he?”
“Don’t. I made sure it was he.”
The firing went on through the door, and in the darkness, which now grew profound, the besieged made out that the direction of the bullets was varied, for those which came through struck the wall in different places—high, low, and to right and left; and the result of this was that suddenly, in spite of Dallas’s endeavours to keep the dog close to him in shelter, he escaped from him to bound about, barking savagely, and the next minute, as a couple of shots came through the door, he uttered a peculiar snarling snap, and threw himself with a heavy thud against the door.
“He has got it, Bel,” whispered Dallas. “Here, Scruff! Scruff!”
The dog came to him, whining, and then uttered a dismal howl.
“Poor old chap! you must lick the place,” said Dallas. “I’ll see to it when I can get a light.”
“Badly wounded, Dal?” said Abel.