“That will be quite right, Pete; and I will go on now. Why, Joe Smithers ought to be able to spot any one hiding behind that bush. I’ll go round by where he’s posted and see.”
“Ought to be able to see for hisself,” grumbled Peter; and as Archie turned to reach the door, unaware of the fact that he was exposing himself a little, Peter raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired a snap shot, just as simultaneously Archie started at the brushing by his cheek of a spear which came through the window with a low trajectory and stuck with a soft thud into something at the far end of the room.
“Missed him!” said Peter in an angry, impatient way. “No, I ain’t. It was only chance it, though. Ah! Would you?” For another spear flashed through the window, making one of the young men duck down, while the other started aside.
Then their eyes met in a curious look of horror, and for a few minutes neither spoke.
“Think of that, now, Mister Archie!” said Peter, as his trembling fingers were playing about the breech of his rifle.
“Horrible!” said Archie, as he recalled the confession to which he had listened.
“Yes, sir; ’orrid, ain’t it? And that was a chance shot, too, though he meant it for you. I say, sir, he won’t blow up no more magazines;” and Peter made a great smudge across his moist forehead with his powder-blackened hand. For the second spear had found its billet in the chest of the Frenchman, whose sufferings were at an end.