weapons were stuck in his belt, in his hand he carried a pistol.
“Good evening,” he said harshly.
The girl was afraid but Zivko replied:
“Bad luck to you if it is God’s will.” I saw no more for the three men had closed the door behind them, they came nearer and leaned against the very crack through which I was looking. I heard noise—then groans—and the suppressed cry of Stana:—“Robbers!”
I was terrified. I procured my revolver and went back to the door again. Just at this moment I heard at my window—“Pst pst!” and I turned.
“Sir, give me Zivko’s pistol from the wall there, quickly! Do not hesitate. I am Trino Trifunov. Quick—there are robbers here! Quick, quick!”
The danger was urgent. I understood and concluded that this man must be Trino, the German, Stana’s weapon. I did not delay but handed him the pistol. Would a robber ask me to lend him a pistol?
Now it was my turn. I saw that my revolver was in condition. And while I did it I trembled like an aspen leaf. For the first time in my life I realized that I did not carry this weapon about with
