"'Twas I, sir. A bad cold, I assure you," pleaded the landlord.
"You are getting light-headed in your cups, Dick!" exclaimed another half-tipsy trooper. "But I'll swear there's good liquor in those casks."
Master Anthony vehemently protested that they were empty. Then, to my horror, I heard another man exclaim:
"Stand aside, you knock-kneed ale-seller! A pistolbullet will show whether you speak the truth."
"Wouldst spoil a good man's casks?" protested the landlord; but his words were of no avail, and I heard the dragoon cock his pistol.
There were, I remember, four of these casks in a row, and three were occupied by us, while one of the two middle ones was empty. There was a chance that the empty one would be the target of the rebel's pistol, but directly I heard the sound of the pistol being cocked, I squeezed myself close to one side of the cask, so that my body was clear of the centre. Then I braced myself up, resolving, even if I were hit, to endeavour to suppress a cry lest I and my companions should be discovered.
It seemed ages ere I heard the report, and with a splintering of wood a hole was drilled through the cask where I stood, the bullet passing close to my knees, and burying itself in the opposite side.
"The old rascal is right, the cask is empty," said one of the men, with a laugh.
"I'll wager a tankard of cider that you'll not nick my mark," exclaimed the soldier who had fired.
"Done cried the other. I tell you, you've lost already."