Carette was at stake.
I knew what I had to do--if I could do it.
He struck again with the steel, and as he bent to blow the tinder into flame his eye caught the gleam of it on Aunt Jeanne's polished milk-can.

I know not what he thought it.

Possibly his nerves were overstrung with what he had been going through.

With an oath he dropped the tinder, and snatched out a pistol, and fired in the direction of the can.

And as the blaze lit up the great black bulk of him I stood up quickly and fired also,--and, before God, I think I was justified, for it was his life or ours.
The place bellowed with the shots, and the air was thick with smoke and the sharp smell of powder.