To wing him then was the height of my ambition as I threw my little firearm forward in a fashion in vogue among all good pistol shots.
Then came the spiteful little crack, hardly louder than the snapping of one’s finger, for modern powder is next to noiseless in its detonation.
“He’s down!” exclaimed Robbins, setting his six foot frame in motion.
I remained with our charge and advanced more quietly.
“Oh, I hope you have not killed him! It was too bad to shoot!” said Hildegarde.
I felt chagrined—what I did never appeared worthy of praise in her eyes, yet she could applaud that tall athlete, Robbins, when he knocked down a man a foot under his height.
“No danger—I aimed to disable; our lives may depend on getting that key, else I wouldn’t have shot the poor devil,” I said, coldly.
All the same I knew I was in for rough usage in case we were caught, for I had drawn the blood of the alcalde’s servant, and while in these queer little republics money is a plaster that can cure almost any political ill, still it must needs be a liberal dose that could soothe the ruffled feelings of the enraged mayor after what we had done on this night of nights.
But we were not captured yet—far from it.
Why, the game was young, and there must needs be many a twist and turn before one could call the cards.