He sped on nevertheless, not knowing if he were wounded or not, but
very wisely deciding that this was the surest way to find out.
As it happened, this pistol-shot proved of the greatest service to
him. For an inquisitive burgher, hearing the outcries along the
road, had popped his head out of his garden door at the very moment
that Tristram whizzed by, followed by the detonation. The burgher,
too, was uncertain about the bullet, but determined on the instant to
take the gloomier view. He therefore fell across the pavement on his
stomach and bellowed.
The distraction was so sudden that two of the pursuers tripped over
his prostrate form and fell headlong. Their swords clanged on the
cobbles. With the clang there mingled the sound of a muffled
explosion.
"Curse the idiot! You've killed him, Dick."
The pair picked themselves up as their comrades leapt past them.
Dick snatched up his second pistol, and resumed the pursuit without
troubling his head about the burgher.
The burgher picked himself up and extracted the ball--from the folds
of his voluminous breeches. Then he went indoors for ointment and
plaster, the flame of the powder having scorched him severely.
Later he had the bent guelder (which had diverted the bullet)
fastened to a little gold chain, and his wife wore it always on the
front of her bodice.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183