"Look at that, would you?" cried Jimmy. A man had jumped into momentary view, in the midst of the leafless bushes, and making a wild spring, vanished back of a neighboring spur of rock. "He thought it was too hot out in the open," said Harry. "I wonder if you winged him with that shot, Jack?" "I'd like to believe I did," came the answer, as Jack worked the mechanism of his rifle, so as to send out the useless brass shell, and shoot another cartridge from the magazine into the firing chamber; "but from the way he jumped, in didn't look much like he'd been struck. Don't forget to watch the other side, too. If they get started coming in on us, we'd be in a peck of trouble." He had hardly spoken when a gun sounded, and they heard the splash of the bullet mushrooming against the stone close by. "Wow! that's getting pretty close, let me tell you!" cried Jimmy, stooping to pick up the rough-edged, flattened circle of lead, and then immediately dropping it with a cry: "Say, that's as hot as anything! It burned my fingers to beat the band. And there goes another shot down the canyon. They're meanin' business this time, boys! If one of us gets in line with a bullet, his name will be Dennis." In the temporary absence of the scout master Jack thought that the duty of looking after their safety devolved on him. "Here, creep back more, everybody!" he ordered, "and snuggled down the best you can behind any stones you find. Make yourself as small as anything, while that lead's singing around here." "Wish I could find a chance to bang away back at the nervy crowd," grumbled Jimmy, as he sprawled out like a huge frog and listened to several shots from as many different quarters. "What's sauce for the goose ought to be sauce for the gander, too. It's a poor rule, I always heard, that don't work both ways." Try as hard as he would, however, Jimmy seemed unable to find a chance to discharge his gun with anything like a prospect of results. The bullets continued to flit around them, making all sorts of queer and blood chilling noises. There were several narrow escapes, too; and once Harry actually felt a tug at his arm that, upon investigation, showed him a slit in the khaki material of which the sleeve of his coat was made, proving that a passing bullet had almost drawn blood. Several minutes had passed since this bombardment commenced, and it showed no signs of slackening. If it continued much longer there was a chance that one of the scouts might stop a bullet, and the prospect did not seem very pleasant, to say the least. While this was going on, and all hands were grumbling, because they found so little use for their trusty rifles, Jack heard some one gently calling his name. "Hello! is that you, Ned?" he asked joyfully, for he felt sure that the return of the scout master would mean a new rift in the clouds. "Yes, tell the other boys to back in here after you!" the other scout went on to say.