He'd dressed himself now and brushed his yellow hair well back. 'That's better; come along and have some grub.'
Well, I hadn't any appetite, but he had—and ate a jolly good meal in spite of all the orderlies and officers coming and going. He did want to dine on the open verandah, close to the road, but I thought of that little beast creeping up with the revolver, and managed to get him into an inside room, by complaining of the cold. The air was so still that all the time he was eating we could hear firing going on far away in the forest, but that didn't interfere with his appetite in the least. 'Zorilla's not made a move yet,' he said at last. 'Come and have a game of billiards,' and we did actually play on a French table with balls as big as oranges, in a room overlooking the sea, the cool breeze blowing through wide-open windows, and the noise of rifle-shots almost drowned by the lazy noise of the water on the beach. José, who seemed to follow Gerald about like a dog, squatted in a corner, a young insurgent officer scored for us, and Gerald, playing stiffly with his bad arm, was as keen on beating me as if we had been in the pater's billiard-room at home. We were half-way through the game, and he was piling up cannon after cannon, sprawling over the table to make his strokes, and I was standing at his side, when I suddenly heard something snap outside, saw the insurgent officer look out—fright on his face—turned my head, and there was that little beast, with a joyful smile on his ugly face, pointing a revolver straight through the window at Gerald.
I don't know how I did it, but I'd pulled Gerald off the table, and he was sprawling on the floor, before the room filled with smoke and noise, and a bullet had cut clean across the green cloth. I saw the insurgent officer whip out a revolver and fire, I sprang out into the dark with mine, and José, with a yell, a machete in his hand, dashed past me, down on to the beach. But there wasn't a sign of any one.
People rushed into the room, the lights were knocked out, and then Gerald sang out, asking what was the matter.
'My dear Billums, I wouldn't have had that happen for worlds,' he said, when the lamps had been relighted, and I'd shown him where the bullet had ripped across the table.
'What happen?' I asked.
'Why, you knocking me down, of course.'
He was quite hurt about it, and wanted to finish the game, said the cut across the cloth would make it all the more 'sporting,' but the noise of firing in the forest became more furious, and orderlies came in with news that Zorilla was on the move at last.
Gerald wrote out more orders and shrugged his shoulders. 'He's marching towards El Castellan. I suppose he thinks I shall try and prevent him.'
'But won't you?' I asked.