His wounded right arm was numb from pain and his left was not the
steadiest in the world, but nothing venture, nothing have, and just
then--_Bang!_ and a bullet whizzed by his head. "Not this toime, ye red
devil," Denny defiantly shouted. A second bullet and he dropped off his
horse. Quickly wheeling about, he dropped on his stomach, and taking a
careful aim over his wounded right arm, he fired. The shot was
apparently a true one and the Indian pitched off head first and lay
still.
With an exultant shout Hogan jumped up and started for the line. Nothing
could stop him now. Loss of blood and the intense cold had weakened him
so that his legs were shaky, the earth seemed to be going around at a
great rate, dark spots were dancing before his eyes; but with a
superhuman effort he recovered himself and was soon at the line.
The wire was strung on light lances, and if Denny were in full
possession of his strength he could easily pull one down. He threw his
weight against one with all of his remaining force--but to no avail.
What was he to do? But sixteen feet intervened between him and that
precious wire.
Pages:
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455