"It's annoying, however, to go about feeling all the time that one is likely to pass away because some stupid ass of an assassin makes a blunder in giving--" The sharp rattle of firearms in the distance brought a sudden stop to his lugubrious reflections.

Five, a dozen--a score of shots were heard.
The blood turned cold in the veins of every one in the garden; faces blanched suddenly and all voices were hushed; a form of paralysis seized and held them for a full minute.
Then the voice of Britt below broke harshly upon the tense, still air: "Good God! Look! It is the bungalow!" A bright glow lighted the dark mountain side, a vivid red painted the trees; the smell of burning wood came down with the breezes.

Two or three sporadic shots were borne to the ears of those who looked toward the blazing bungalow.
"They've killed Chase!" burst from the stiff lips of Bobby Browne.
"Damn them!" came up from below in Britt's hoarse voice..