“Here, here!” panted Dallas.
“Hah!” cried Tregelly. “Fire, my lad, fire!”
Two more shots rang out in the direction of the retiring steps, with the result that there was a sudden cessation of the sounds; but directly after two more shots were fired out of the darkness, and a couple of bullets whistled through the open doorway.
In an instant Tregelly and Abel sprang to right and left, and fired again in the direction of the flashes they had seen.
“Missed him!” growled Tregelly, as the faint sound of retreating steps was again heard. “He’s too many for us. Don’t fire, my lads. Waste of powder and shot. How was it, Mr Dallas?”
There was no reply, Dallas standing close by breathing hard, with his hand pressed upon his shoulder.
“Are you there, Dal?” cried Abel anxiously, for his cousin was invisible in the darkness.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” said Dallas, in a strange tone of voice.
“What is it, my son?” cried Tregelly anxiously.
“I’m afraid I’m hurt,” said Dallas, stooping to recover his rifle. “He struck me on the shoulder with his right hand, and the place is numbed. I can feel nothing there but a smarting pain; but it bleeds, and the cloth is cut.”