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Updated: May 25, 2025
I don't know how it was, but he saw in a moment that face was after him to rob him, and he naturally enough concluded It was their object. And he was without a weapon, and they were doubtless armed. Indeed, Thibout was swinging a heavy cudgel. Poor Dodd's mind went into a whirl and his body into a cold sweat. In such moments men live a year.
Thibout launched himself at the precipice with a shriek of dismay, and went rolling after his comrade; but ere he had gone ten yards he fell across a young larch-tree and hung balanced. Up came the foaming horses: Fullalove dismounted hastily and fired three deliberate shots down at Thibout from his revolver.
He had not been long asleep when the hideous face of Thibout reappeared at the window and watched him. Presently a low whistle was uttered outside, and soon the two ruffians entered the room, and, finding the landlady there as well as Dodd, called for a little glass apiece of absinthe.
Meantime Fullalove and Vespasian were galloping down the opposite hill to his rescue. Unfortunately, Andre Thibout was not dead, nor even mortally wounded.
But it was only for a moment: they had gone too far to retreat; they divided, and Thibout attacked him on his left with uplifted cudgel, and Moinard on his right with a long glittering knife.
At that Thibout touched Moinard's knee under the table. Fullalove came in soon after to say he had got two horses, and they would be here in a quarter of an hour. "Well, but Vespasian? how is he to go?" inquired Dodd. "Oh, we'll send him on ahead, and then ride and tie." "No, no," said Dodd, "I'll go ahead. That will shake me up. I think I should tumble off a horse; I'm so dead sleepy."
In the pure state it forms a viscous mass with a repulsive odor. These researches were repeated by Thibout, Kletinski, Ludwig, Lading, Bucheim, Wagymar, and Renard. Hoehn and Reichardt have recently studied hyoscyamine in a very complete manner. They have obtained the body in the form of warty concretions as soft as wax, and melting at 194 deg.
The ugly thing, on being confronted, passed slowly out of the sun, and Dodd thought no more of it. The owner of this sinister visage was Andre Thibout, of whom it might be said, like face like life; for he was one of those ill-omened creatures who feed upon the misfortunes of their kind, and stand on shore in foul weather hoping the worst, instead of praying for the best: briefly, a wrecker.
Sad to relate, neither Thibout nor Moinard was ended. The guillotine stood on its rights. Meantime, what was left of them crawled back to the town stiff and sore, and supped together Moinard on liquids only and vowed revenge on all wrecked people. The three reached Boulogne in time for the Nancy, and put Dodd on board: the pair decided to go to the Yankee Paradise Paris.
Thibout got to him unperceived, and the knife glittered over his head. At this moment the air seemed to fill with clattering hoofs and voices, and a pistol-shot rang. Dodd heard and started, and so saw his peril. He put up his left hand to parry the blow, but feebly.
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