“I’ll make it for two hundred and fifty, and aim low,” returned Nick. “Distances are deceptive in this atmosphere.”
Carefully he adjusted his sights and got his range. The foresight of his rifle came upon the animal’s shoulder, where he meant to place it.
He did not pull the trigger at once. For a couple of seconds he hesitated. Even his iron nerves were strained to an uncomfortable tension.
Crack!
The muzzle of the rifle jerked upward, and they heard a dull knock, as the bullet struck its target.
Nick had made a bull’s-eye. The goat turned a complete somersault, and rolled over on its side. It made a convulsive effort to get up, fell back—and lay still!
“Got him!” murmured Patsy, with a sigh of relief.
Nick Carter got up from his knee, threw out the empty shell, and slipped another cartridge into the chamber.
He looked to see what had become of Calaman.
The report of the firearm had scared the white mule, causing him to leap violently to one side.