He lay howling with pain, with the hind quarters
of the prostrate beast across his legs. Armitage, running back toward the
wall, kicked the revolver from his hand and left him. Zmai had started to
run as Oscar gained the wall and Chauvenet's curses did not halt the
Servian when he found Oscar at his heels.
Chauvenet stood impassively by the wall, his revolver raised and covering
Armitage, who walked slowly and doggedly toward him. The pallor in
Armitage's face gave him an unearthly look; he appeared to be trying
to force himself to a pace of which his wavering limbs were incapable. At
the moment that Claiborne sprang upon the wall behind Chauvenet Armitage
swerved and stumbled, then swayed from side to side like a drunken man.
His left arm swung limp at his side, and his revolver remained undrawn in
his belt. His gray felt hat was twitched to one side of his head, adding
a grotesque touch to the impression of drunkenness, and he was talking
aloud:
"Shoot me, Mr. Chauvenet. Go on and shoot me! I am John Armitage, and I
live in Montana, where real people are. Go on and shoot! Winkelried's in
jail and the jig's up and the Empire and the silly King are safe.
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