He almost believed that she wanted to
fight--that she was ready to rush out shoulder to shoulder with
him against their enemies. Scarcely had the cry fallen from her
lips when she turned and ran swiftly into her room. It seemed to
Philip that she was not gone ten seconds. When she returned she
thrust into his hand a revolver.
It was a toy affair. The weight and size of the weapon told him
that before he broke it and looked at the caliber. It was a
"stocking" gun as they called those things in the service, fully
loaded with .22 caliber shots and good for a possible partridge at
fifteen or twenty paces. Under other conditions it would have
furnished him with considerable amusement. But the present was not
yesterday or the day before. It was a moment of grim necessity--
and the tiny weapon gave him the satisfaction of knowing that he
was not entirely helpless against the javelins. It would shoot as
far as the stockade, and it might topple a man over if he hit him
just right. Anyway, it would make a noise.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156