His friend—or confederate rather, for such men have no friends—looked on, still amazed.
"Take up that fellow by his head and his heels," ordered Rudolf. "Quickly! I suppose you don't want the police to find us here with him, do you? Well, no more do I. Lift him up."
As he spoke Rudolf turned to knock on the door of No. 19.
But even as he did so Bauer groaned. Dead perhaps he ought to have been, but it seems to me that fate is always ready to take the cream and leave the scum. His leap aside had served him well after all: he had nearly escaped scot free. As it was, the bullet, without missing his head altogether, had just glanced on his temple as it passed; its impact had stunned but not killed. Friend Bauer was in unusual luck that night; I wouldn't have taken a hundred to one about his chance of life. Rudolf arrested his hand. It would not do to leave Bauer at the house, if Bauer were likely to regain speech. He stood for a moment considering what to do, but in an instant the thoughts that he tried to gather were scattered again.
"The patrol, the patrol!" hoarsely whispered the fellow who had not yet spoken. There was a sound of the hoofs of horses. Down the street from the station-end there appeared two mounted men. Without a second's hesitation the two rascals
