I wished I knew what it was all about, so I’d know whether it was wisest to shoot Einarson and duck through the apparently empty building behind us or not. I could guess that the paper in Djudakovich’s hand had been evidence of some sort against the Colonel, evidence that would have stirred the soldiers to the point of attacking him if they hadn’t been too accustomed to obeying him.
While I was wishing and guessing Einarson finished his address, stepped to one side, clicked his heels together, pointed a finger at Djudakovich, barked an order.
Down below, soldiers’ faces were indecisive, shifty-eyed, but four of them stepped briskly out at their colonel’s order and came up the steps. “So,” I thought, “my fat candidate has lost! Well, he can have the firing squad. The back door for mine.” My hand had been holding the gun in my coat pocket for a long time. I kept it there while I took a slow step back, drawing the girl with me.
“Move when I tell you,” I muttered.
“Wait!” she gasped. “Look!”
The fat giant, sleepy-eyed as ever, put out an enormous paw and caught the wrist of Einarson’s pointing hand. Pulled Einarson down. Let go the wrist and caught the Colonel’s shoulder. Lifted him off his feet with that one hand that held his shoulder. Shook him at the soldiers below. Shook Einarson at them with one hand. Shook his piece of paper—whatever it was—at them with the other. And I’m damned if one seemed any more strain on his monstrous arms than the other!
While he shook them—man and paper—he roared sleepily, and when he had finished roaring he flung his two handfuls down to the wild-eyed ranks. Flung them with a gesture that said, “ Here is the man and here is the evidence against him. Do what you like. ”