Ferrol laughed.
"You needn't worry about me, Nic. I'll get out of this all right; as
right as rain! Are you ready? Steady now, steady. Let me hear you
cough." Nic coughed.
"No, that isn't it. Listen and watch." Ferrol coughed. "Here," he
said, taking something from his pocket, "open your mouth." He threw some
pepper down the other's throat. "Now try it."
Nic coughed almost convulsively.
"Yes, that's it, that's it! Just keep that up. Come along now. Quick-
not a moment to lose! Steady! You're all right, my boy; you've got
nerve, and that's the thing. Good-bye, Nic, good luck to you!"
They grasped hands: the door opened swiftly, and Nic stepped outside. In
an instant Ferrol was at the loophole. Raising a rifle, he fired, then
again and again. Through the loophole he could see a half-dozen men lift
a log to advance on the door as Nic passed a couple of officers, coughing
hard, and making spasmodic motions with his hand, as though exhausted and
unable to speak.
He fired again, and a soldier fell. The lust of fighting was on him now.
It was not a question of country or of race, but only a man crowding the
power of old instincts into the last moments of his life.
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