They beheld a
reddish place, with a center like a pin jab, but not a drop of blood.
"It was a spent shot!" said Rupert wisely. "It came from a distance. But
it was a very reckless thing to do to fire at all in this direction."
"Let me take a look at it!" said Julian Ives, crowding forward and
stooping to inspect it. As he did so, he straightened up with a little
screech, and clapped a hand to his hips.
"Wow!" he howled, dancing round as Veazie had done. "I'm shot, too!
Fellows, this is awful! I believe I'm killed! Who is doing this?"
"Thuch weckleth thyoothing I never thaw!" groaned Veazie, though he was
much relieved to discover that he had not received a deadly hurt.
"Thomebody mutht be awwested for thith. I thouldn't be thurpwithed if it
ith one of Merriwell's fwiendth!"
"Wow!" howled Julian, falling to the ground, and writhing about in his
agony. "I'm dead! I never had anything hurt me so! Wow-ow-ow!"
Ollie Lord clapped a hand to his head and executed a quickstep. He
pulled off his cap and rubbed furiously, expecting to feel the blood
come away on his fingers, for he also fancied he had been shot.
"Goodness!" he gasped. "Whoever is shooting this way ought to be jailed.
We will all be killed in five minutes. That tore a hole in my scalp,
sure!"
Rupert Chickering, who was beginning to look grave and anxious, next
jumped up into the air, forgetting his dignity; while Willis Paulding
sat down with a suddenness that jarred the ground, and began to declaim
in a quick, nervous way and without the slightest imitation of an
English accent.
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