Meanwhile, the
loyal troops remained safely in their blockhouses, pouring a
steady fire into the town. And despite this admirable display of
courage the visitors showed a deep respect for their enemies'
markmanship, taking advantage of whatever shelter there was.
Leslie Branch, of course, proved the solitary exception; as usual,
he exposed himself recklessly and rode the middle of the streets,
regardless of those sudden explosions of dust beneath his horse's
feet or those unexpected showers of plaster from above.
He had spent his time assiduously ransacking the deserted shops,
and in addition to his huge bundle of bedding and his long string
of straw hats he now possessed a miscellaneous assortment of
plunder, in which were a bolt of calico, a pair of shoes, a
collection of cooking-utensils, an umbrella, and--strangest of
all--a large gilt-framed mirror. The safety of these articles
seemed to concern him far more than his own. Spying O'Reilly, he
shouted:
"Say! What's the Spanish word for 'clothing-store'? I need a new
suit."
"Don't be an idiot!" Johnnie yelled at him. "Keep under cover."
But Branch only shook his head. "They couldn't hit anything," he
cried.
The next instant, as if to punctuate his remark, a spent bullet
smashed the mirror and sprinkled the speaker with particles of
glass.
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