Another flash—another whizzing bullet.
“Here goes, then. For the captain first.”
His Browning flamed out. The captain and the other three galloped on. The Browning cracked again—and a third time. All four riders still kept their seats.
“Oh, oh!” moaned the countess. “Only four bullets left! You can’t miss again. You must get a man with every bullet!”
“Stop!” roared the captain. “We don’t want to shoot. We don’t want to hurt the woman!”
“Shoot!” gasped the countess to Drexel. “And for God’s sake shoot straight!”
Drexel in silence tried to take careful aim over the back of the sleigh. But a galloping horseman at forty yards is not an easy moonlight pistol target for a novice in a swaying sleigh. After the crack of the pistol the captain rode on, but one of the men slowly fell behind.
“That’s better!” breathed the countess. “You’ve wounded a horse. Once more!”
At the next shot the captain’s bridle arm fell to his side. The sixth went wide.
“Oh, oh!” groaned the countess.