" He tugged at the string of the second packet
of ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a
bank into the moonlight.
"I see you!" said Simmons. "Come a bit furder on an' I'll do for
you."
"I'm comm'," said Corporal Slane, briefly; "you've done a bad day's
work, Sim. Come out 'ere an' come back with me."
"Come to,"-laugbed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his
thumb. "Not before I've settled you an' Jerry Blazes."
The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the
parade-ground, a rifle under him. Some of the less-cautious men
in the distance shouted: "Shoot 'im! Shoot 'im, Slane !"
"You move 'and or foot, Slane," said Simmons, "an' I'll kick Jerry
Blazes' 'ead in, and shoot you after."
"I ain't movin'," said the Corporal, raising his head; "you daren't 'it
a man on 'is legs. Let go O' Jerry Blazes an' come out O' that with
your fistes. Come an' 'it me. You daren't, you bloomin'
dog-shooter!"
"I dare."
"You lie, you man-sticker. You sneakin', Sheeny butcher, you lie.
See there!" Slane kicked the rifle away, and stood up in the peril
of his life. "Come on, now!"
The temptation was more than Simmons could resist, for the
Corporal in his white clothes offered a perfect mark.
"Don't misname me," shouted Simmons, firing as he spoke. The
shot missed, and the shooter, blind with rage, threw his rifle down
and rushed at Slane from the protection of the well.
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