“Blaze away at it, Chick. And be sure to hit it squarely in the middle, if you can.”
“I can do it,” replied Chick. “I’ll drive my first bullet farther in with two others. How will that do?”
“Capital, if you can manage it. I want to teach that old heathen a lesson that will make him wonder where it is going to stop.”
Nick Carter was pumping fresh cartridges into his own magazine as he spoke. There should be no chance of his being caught with an unloaded rifle while he had ammunition within reach, at all events.
“I can manage it,” grunted Chick, as he took careful aim. “I’m glad I’ve always kept up swinging-target practice. At some of those shooting galleries in New York they have me barred out,” he added, with a grin.
“Wait a moment!” roared Calaman. “I’ll come away while you are using your death sticks. They might go the wrong way.”
“There’s no danger if you don’t move,” Nick Carter called back to him. “Tell your guards to keep away.” Then, to Chick: “Now, old man, show them what you have.”
The guards moved away in a hurry, glad of the excuse to get out of what seemed to them a very dangerous situation. But Calaman stuck to his place. There was no cowardice in the old priest.
Chick was as good as his word.