I felt the warm blood running down within my clothes, and had a queer sensation of having fallen from a great height.
"I'll kill him!--I'll kill him!" I found myself repeating in a silly way, as I got to my feet again.
No sooner was I up than Miste fired again, and I heard the bullet whistle past my ear.

At this I whipped out Giraud's revolver, for I thought the next shot would kill me.

The scoundrel let me have it a third time, and tore a piece out of my cheek; the pain of it was damnable.

I now stood still and took a careful sight, remembering, in a dull way, to fire low.

I aimed at his knees.