Such an apparition, in an hour and a place so lonely, might stagger a less superstitious soul than that of Don Miguel de Mendoza.
Freeman gazed at it for a moment in silence.

It mystified him, and then irritated him.

When one is bent heart and soul upon an important enterprise, any interruption is an annoyance.

Perhaps there was in the young American's nature just enough remains of belief in witches and hobgoblins to make him feel warranted in resorting to extreme measures.
At any rate, he lifted his revolver, and fired.
It was a long shot for a revolver: nevertheless it took effect.

The luminous object disappeared with a faint explosive sound, followed by a shout unmistakably human.