The Jackal, who had been growing more and more interested in the story, had just time to leap back as the huge tail swung by like a scythe.
“ Not before the fifth shot,” said the Mugger, as though he had never dreamed of stunning one of his listeners—“not before the fifth shot did I sink, and I rose in time to hear a boatman telling all those white women that I was most certainly dead. One bullet had gone under a neck-plate of mine. I know not if it is there still, for the reason I cannot turn my head. Look and see, child. It will show that my tale is true.”
“ I?” said the Jackal. “Shall an eater of old shoes, a bone-cracker, presume, to doubt the word of the Envy of the River? May my tail be bitten off by blind puppies if the shadow of such a thought has crossed my humble mind! The
