Indeed, with such force did
his proud head collide with terra firma that had it not been for the
soft cushion of ferns and tiny redwood twigs, his neck must have been
broken by the shock. To complete his withdrawal from active service,
the last whiff of breath had been driven from his lungs; and for the
space of a minute, during which Jules Rondeau lay heavily across his
midriff, the Colonel was quite unable to get it back. Pale, gasping,
and jarred from soul to suspenders, he was merely aware that
something unexpected and disconcerting had occurred.
While the Colonel fought for his breath, his woodsmen remained in the
offing, paralyzed into inactivity by reason of the swiftness and
thoroughness of Bryce Cardigan's work; then Shirley motioned to them
to remove the wreckage, and they hastened to obey.
Freed from the weight on the geometric centre of his being, Colonel
Pennington stretched his legs, rolled his head from side to side, and
snorted violently several times like a buck. After the sixth snort he
felt so much better that a clear understanding of the exact nature of
the catastrophe came to him; he struggled and sat up, looking around
a little wildly.
"Where--did--Cardigan--go?" he gasped.
One of his men pointed to the timber into which the enemy had just
disappeared.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151