The stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred persons, many of whom carried lanterns and links. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. Wily little devil she is. "What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag. I was rude and stupid. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. "Ay, robbed him," reiterated Jonathan.
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