rarely saw a member of the other, it was inevitable that most of the shots went wild.
Matters were “humming” thus, when the last person in the world that would have been believed capable of anything of the kind, did something so clever that it brought a compliment from Shagbark himself. That person was Jethro Mix.
When he recovered his gun, he leaped out of the wagon. The rear of the latter faced outward. Alden stood close to the body, and used the broad-tired wheel as a partial protection. No other man was near, they having been sent to different points. Instead of remaining in the vehicle and firing over the tailboard, where only his head would have been exposed, Jethro stood in the open—that is, directly in front of the cumbersome structure. He had not the benefit even of shadow, but must have been in plain sight of one or more foes in the grass.
“Don’t do that, Jeth!” called his young master in a guarded voice. “You’ll be shot.”
“Git out!” replied the negro, with his rifle at his shoulder, and alert for his opportunity. “I’m safe as you is; ’tend to your own bus'ness.”
