But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a dangerous murderer. He was, as his adoring Battery swore long and fervently, without knowledge of fear, and they were surely the best judges, for Jerry Blazes, it was notorious, had done his possible to kill a man each time the Battery went out.
He walked toward Simmons, with the intention of rushing him, and knocking him down.
“Don't make me do it, Sir,” said Simmons; “I ain't got nothing agin you. Ah! you would?”—the Major broke into a run—“Take that then!”
The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder, and Simmons stood over him. He had lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the desired way: hut here was a helpless body to his hand. Should be slip in another cartridge, and blow off the head, or with the butt smash in the white face? He stopped to consider, and a cry went up from the far side of the parade-ground: “He's killed Jerry Blazes!” But in the shelter of the well-pillars Simmons was safe except when he stepped out to fire. “I'll blow yer 'andsome 'ead off, Jerry Blazes,” said Simmons, reflectively. “Six an' three is nine an one is ten, an' that leaves me another nineteen, an' one for myself.” He tugged at the string of the second packet of ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a bank into the moonlight.
“I see you!” said Simmons. “Come a bit furder on an' I'll do for you.”
“I'm comm',” said Corporal Slane, briefly; “you've done a bad day's work, Sim. Come out 'ere an' come back with me.”
“Come to,”—laughed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb. “Not before I've settled you an' Jerry Blazes.”
The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the parade-ground, a rifle under him. Some of the less-cautious men in the distance shouted: “Shoot 'im! Shoot 'im, Slane!”
“You move 'and or foot, Slane,” said Simmons, “an' I'll kick Jerry Blazes' 'ead in, and shoot you after.”
“I ain't movin',” said the Corporal, raising his head; “you daren't 'it a man on 'is legs. Let go o' Jerry Blazes an' come out o' that with your fistes. Come an' 'it me. You daren't, you bloomin' dog-shooter!”