CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
TOM USES HIS FIRST BULLET It had been a pet saying of Tom's scoutmaster back in America that you should _wait long enough to make up your mind and not one second longer_.
Tom knew that the pressure of liquid above that fatal bullet hole near the bottom of the hogshead was great enough to send the poison fairly pouring out.

He could not see this death-dealing stream, for it was hidden in the bush, but he knew that it would continue to pour forth until several of these great receptacles had been emptied and the running brook with its refreshing coolness had become an instrument of frightful death.
Safe behind the protecting bulk of the hogshead crouched the two surviving Germans, while Roscoe, covering the spot, kept his eyes riveted upon it for the first rash move of either of the pair.

And meanwhile the poison poured out of the very bulwark that shielded them and into the swift-running stream.
"I don't think they've got us spotted," Tom whispered, moving cautiously toward the trunk of the tree; "the private had a rifle, didn't he ?" "What are you going to do ?" Roscoe breathed.
"Stop up that hole.

Give me a bullet, will you ?" "You're taking a big chance, Tom." "I ain't thinking about that.

Give me a bullet.