watch up and down the avenue.
Then Tudor came. Sheldon happened to be looking in his direction
at the moment he came into view, peering quickly up and down the
avenue before he stepped into the open. Midway he stopped, as if
debating what course to
pursue. He made a splendid mark, facing
his concealed enemy at two hundred yards' distance. Sheldon aimed
at the centre of his chest, then
deliberately shifted the aim to
his right shoulder, and, with the thought, "That will put him out
of business," pulled the
trigger. The
bullet, driving with
momentum sufficient to perforate a man's body a mile distant,
struck Tudor with such force as to pivot him, whirling him half
around by the shock of its
impact and knocking him down.
"'Hope I haven't killed the beggar," Sheldon muttered aloud,
springing to his feet and
running forward.
A hundred feet away all
anxiety on that score was relieved by
Tudor, who made shift with his left hand, and from his
automaticpistol hurled a rain of
bullets all around Sheldon. The latter
dodged behind a palm trunk, counting the shots, and when the eighth
had been fired he rushed in on the wounded man. He kicked the
pistol out of the other's hand, and then sat down on him in order
to keep him down.
"Be quiet," he said. "I've got you, so there's no use struggling."
Tudor still attempted to struggle and to throw him off.
"Keep quiet, I tell you," Sheldon commanded. "I'm satisfied with
the
outcome, and you've got to be. So you might as well give in
and call this affair closed."
Tudor
reluctantly relaxed.
"Rather funny, isn't it, these modern duels?" Sheldon grinned down
at him as he removed his weight. "Not a bit
dignified. If you'd
struggled a moment longer I'd have rubbed your face in the earth.
I've a good mind to do it anyway, just to teach you that duelling
has gone out of fashion. Now let us see to your injuries."
"You only got me that last," Tudor grunted
sullenly, "lying in
ambush like--"
"Like a wild Indian. Precisely. You've caught the idea, old man."
Sheldon ceased his mocking and stood up. "You lie there quietly
until I send back some of the boys to carry you in. You're not
seriously hurt, and it's lucky for you I didn't follow your
example. If you had been struck with one of your own
bullets, a
carriage and pair would have been none too large to drive through
the hole it would have made. As it is, you're drilled clean--a
nice little perforation. All you need is antiseptic washing and
dressing, and you'll be around in a month. Now take it easy, and
I'll send a
stretcher for you."
CHAPTER XXVIII--CAPITULATION
When Sheldon emerged from among the trees he found Joan
waiting at
the
compound gate, and he could not fail to see that she was
visibly gladdened at the sight of him.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," was her greeting.
"What's become of Tudor? That last
flutter of the
automatic wasn't
nice to listen to. Was it you or Tudor?"
"So you know all about it," he answered
coolly. "Well, it was
Tudor, but he was doing it left-handed. He's down with a hole in
his shoulder." He looked at her
keenly. "Disappointing, isn't
it?" he drawled.
"How do you mean?"
"Why, that I didn't kill him."
"But I didn't want him killed just because he kissed me," she
cried.
"Oh, he did kiss you!" Sheldon retorted, in
evident surprise. "I
thought you said he hurt your arm."
"One could call it a kiss, though it was only on the end of the
nose." She laughed at the
recollection. "But I paid him back for
that myself. I boxed his face for him. And he did hurt my arm.
It's black and blue. Look at it."
She pulled up the loose
sleeve of her
blouse, and he saw the
bruised imprints of two fingers.
Just then a gang of blacks came out from among the trees carrying
the wounded man on a rough
stretcher.
"Romantic, isn't it?" Sheldon sneered, following Joan's startled
gaze. "And now I'll have to play
surgeon and doctor him up.
Funny, this twentieth-century duelling. First you drill a hole in
a man, and next you set about plugging the hole up."