Meanwhile Oscar, thinking Zmai badly hurt, did not fire again, but flung himself upon the fellow's broad shoulders and down they crashed against the door of the nearest pen.

Zmai swerved and shook himself free while he fiercely cursed his foe.

Oscar's hands slipped on the fellow's hot blood that ran from a long crease in the side of his head.
As they fell the pen door snapped free, and out into the starry pasture thronged the frightened sheep.
"The letter--give me the letter!" commanded Oscar, his face close to the Servian's.

He did not know how badly the man was injured, but he was anxious to complete his business and be off.

Still the sheep came huddling through the broken door, across the prostrate men, and scampered away into the open.