paid no attention to the wet slipperiness of the road. Rain and night and speed blurred its two occupants, who were in the front seat.
Over my head a heavy revolver roared. The soldier was working. The speeding car swayed crazily along the wet cement, its brakes screaming.
When the sixth shot told me the nickel-plated gun was probably empty, I jumped out of my hollow.
The soldier was leaning over the lumber pile, his gun still pointing at the skidding car while he peered through the rain.
He turned as I saw him, swung the gun around to me, snarled an order I couldn’t understand. I was betting the gun was empty. I raised both hands high over my head, made an astonished face, and kicked him in the belly.
He folded over on me, wrapping himself around my leg. We both went down. I was underneath, but his head was against my thigh. His cap fell off. I caught his hair with both hands and yanked myself into a sitting position. His teeth went into my leg. I called him disagreeable things and put my thumbs in the hollows under his ears. It didn’t take much pressure to teach him that he oughtn’t to bite people. When he lifted his face to howl, I put my right fist in it, pulling him into the punch with my left hand in his hair. It was a nice solid sock.
I pushed him off my leg, got up, took a handful of his coat collar, and dragged him out into the road.