Summary

James A. Frye Fables of Field and Staff

Pollard’s last bullet was speeding its way across the two hundred yards of snow. And in a moment the white disk crept into sight—but not on Pollard’s target! Bullseye though the shot was, it could be scored only as a miss.
“Da’—thunderation!” yelled Pollard, giving an exhibition of realistic acting sufficiently fine to have made Salvini faint dead away, could he have seen it. “Oh, glory! I’m on the wrong target—and there goes the blooming old cup! Kerwick’s score outranks. What luck! Oh, what infernal luck!”
Source: Gutenberg

James A. Frye Fables of Field and Staff

It seemed to me that the mob displayed symptoms of wavering: and when Curtis, in his deepest and most awe-inspiring tone, commanded, ‘Aim!’ I drew a breath of relief, for I felt that when The Forty Thieves levelled their fifty rifles in one long, threatening line, a break must surely follow. But just at this critical moment the door of the shanty was flung open, and three men dashed out and went tearing off towards the woods.
Source: Gutenberg

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