I loosed the leather belt from my waist, and made a sling of it. Pebbles lay at my feet in plenty for my David's battle with Goliath.
The robbers soon found they had to do with a skilled bombardier; my shots struck them and their horses with a force and regularity that began to tell on their ranks. Many were thrown from their saddles with skulls and ribs crushed.
The fun was not all on their side. Finding at last that I was not to be taken alive, they concluded to use me as a target for their muskets. One of them dismounted, lifted the musket from his shoulder, thrust the bayonet into the ground, and rested the gun on it. After he had arranged the priming in the pan, he called to me:
"Surrender, fellow, or I'll shoot you!"
"Try it," I called back, whirling the sling around my head. "Afterward I'll have a shot at you."
"Do you throw first," he called again.
"No, thank you—you are the challenger; do you shoot first."
He fired, and missed me.
Then I hurled my stone; it struck him on the jaw, and broke off his teeth.
Then a second, and a third, had a try at me without effect, but everyone of my shots inflicted serious injury.