“If you must, you must,” exclaimed Rivers. “But take notice that I will allow no more. If you persist after this, I shall ride off the ground.”
Vander Heyden bowed stiffly, and, raising his revolver, delivered his second shot. It evidently struck his antagonist, who raised, and then dropped his arm, as if in pain. Hastening up, George discovered that he had been hit in the right wrist. The wound did not appear to be a dangerous one, but it was obviously impossible for Bostock to hold a pistol.
“I cannot have my revenge to-day,” he exclaimed sullenly, when the bleeding had been stopped, and the wound bound up. “But the day will come when I shall return your fire.”
“When you please, sir,” answered the Dutchman haughtily. “After an affair of this kind, you must be allowed to go free. If we meet again, it will be different. I shall not feel obliged to answer your challenge a second time.”
They parted, Bostock leading away his wounded horse, and the other two, remounting, rode back to their companions.
“Mr Rivers,” said the Dutchman when they had ridden, a short distance, “I thank you for your friendly offices. Will you add to them by being entirely silent about this adventure?”
“Certainly,” returned George; “it would not be desirable on many accounts to speak of it.” No more was said until they rejoined their companions, who were somewhat impatiently awaiting their return.
“Did you kill either of those fellows?” asked the sergeant. “I fancied I heard several shots fired.”
“No, they got off,” said George vaguely. “I hope Walter is not much hurt.”
“Only a flesh wound, George,” said Walter Baylen. “The worst of it is that I am afraid it will prevent me from joining the other fellows when they march. They tell me I shan’t be able to stir for three weeks to come.”