It was the blindest kind of theorizing, but strange as it may seem, Jethro Mix was absolutely right in his conclusion. And the wonder of it all is that he reached it within a dozen seconds after the redskin’s bullet whizzed by his temple. Not only that, but he reasoned that the Indian would not shift his place for more than two or three feet, before reloading and trying another shot. Accordingly, having located his target by guesswork, Jethro sighted as best he could in the moonlight and pulled trigger.
And he got his man, too. A cry from the grass left no doubt on that point. He had hit the redskin as fairly as Shagbark could have done had the foe been standing on his feet with the sun shining overhead. And then like a veteran, Jethro, without stirring in his tracks, began reloading his gun.
Shagbark hurried forward. He was whisking from point to point, keeping the men keyed up and instructing them what to do. The shots still came from different points, but the firing was desultory and blind. The enemy hoped to hit man or animal, but there could be no certainty of doing so.
“Come back hyar,” said the guide sternly;
