“I only know of one other kind of target,” he observed coolly.
“Yes—a living target!” cried Murrell.
The crowd opened from right to left. Betty's face grew white, and uttering a smothered cry she started to descend from the carriage, but the judge rested his hand on her arm.
“No, my dear young, lady, our friend is quite able to care for himself.”
Carrington shook the priming into the pan of Hannibal's ancient weapon.
“I am ready for that, too,” he said. There was a slow smile on his lips, but his eyes, black and burning, looked the captain through and through.
“Another time—” said Murrell, scowling.
“Any time,” answered Carrington indifferently.