I will have to look her over a bit first. Let us
hope there is nothing serious. It's a long, long way to the Tanga
railway."
"We would not get far," said the girl, a slight note of hopelessness
in her tone. "Entirely unarmed as we are, it would be little less
than a miracle if we covered even a small fraction of the distance."
"But we are not unarmed," replied the man. "I have an extra pistol
here, that the beggars didn't discover," and, removing the cover
of a compartment, he drew forth an automatic.
Bertha Kircher leaned back in her seat and laughed aloud, a mirthless,
half-hysterical laugh. "That popgun!" she exclaimed. "What earthly
good would it do other than to infuriate any beast of prey you
might happen to hit with it?"
Smith-Oldwick looked rather crestfallen. "But it is a weapon," he
said. "You will have to admit that, and certainly I could kill a
man with it."
"You could if you happened to hit him," said the girl, "or the
thing didn't jam. Really, I haven't much faith in an automatic. I
have used them myself."
"Oh, of course," he said ironically, "an express rifle would be
better, for who knows but we might meet an elephant here in the
desert."
The girl saw that he was hurt, and she was sorry, for she realized
that there was nothing he would not do in her service or protection,
and that it was through no fault of his that he was so illy armed.
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