This tension had lasted but a few minutes, when the grass surrounding the camp became flashes of flame. From a score of places, representing so many different points of the compass, rifles gushed fire, the sharp cracks of the weapons rang out in the stillness, and the thud and pinging of rifle balls were everywhere. In two instances the escapes of the defenders could not have been narrower. Abner Fleming felt the zip of a bullet which grazed his forehead, and one of his neighbors on the other side of the circle was scraped by a pellet of lead which abraded an arm. Not an assailant could be seen. Leaving their ponies at a distance, the Indians had crept through the protecting grass to the nearest point prudent, and, crouching low or lying on their faces, fired into the camp. In the same moment the guns began popping from behind and alongside the wagons. Each man aimed at the flash nearest to him, for the instant illumination was his only guide. Then as quickly as the redskins could reload, they fired again, but always from a different point. They were using the trick common among white rangers of rolling aside the instant after pulling trigger. In the briefest conceivable time the whites discharged their weapons, but in that flitting interval, their enemies had shifted their position, and the bullets whizzed harmlessly past in the grass, or buried themselves in the earth. Inasmuch as each party 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 as safe as you is; ’tend to your own bus’ness.” It is hard to explain the mood of the African. He had earned the contempt of his friends by his timidity, but now none showed more intrepidity than he. Possibly he was so scared as to be unable to distinguish between danger and safety. That may be the right theory, but it cannot make clear what he did within the following three minutes.