The range, however, was a long one, and the fire _plunging_, or perpendicular. Now horizontal fire has this characteristic, that if a bullet misses one object it goes straight on and may strike another; or it may pass through a fleshy substance which does not offer too great resistance, and strike another beyond. But a plunging fire, if it misses the object aimed at, goes into the ground and is harmless. And so it happened that no mischief was done for some time, though several bullets came thudding down in the midst of men and camels. At length, with the fatality which seemed throughout this campaign to attend upon non-combatants, a shot struck a poor Egyptian camel driver on the neck, passing through his spine, and shortly afterwards a surgeon was wounded in the foot. There did not seem to be more than two or three riflemen firing at them, but they were far above the average in marksmanship, and more dangerous, at a distance, than a score of ordinary soldiers of the Mahdi. Six men, of whom Kavanagh was one, were told off to dislodge them; not more, because they would certainly retire before a strong body, and return, when they withdrew from the pursuit, to their former positions and practice. Indeed, the officer who went with the six thought that number too numerous to show, and advanced in front with a file only, while the others had orders to creep up on the flanks, concealing themselves entirely, if possible. Those in front got fired at several times as they scaled the rocks, but to hit a small object shifting behind cover was far beyond the Arabs' skill yet, though they _had_ made a vast improvement, and the risk of advancing upon them in this way was not great. And when the two men had got within a couple of hundred yards of the nearest Arab's lurking- place, the officer called to them to halt, keep under cover, and fire if they got a chance, or even if they didn't, his object being to keep them amused while the flankers gained higher ground, and obtained fair shots at them. But one of those in front was Macintosh, for whom the wilful waste of a bullet was almost an impossibility, frugality and marksmanship combining to render the task painful to his feelings. He prided himself on his shooting, and did not like even to appear to make a miss. Not able to catch a glimpse of a foe where he was, he crept thirty yards higher, to a nice flat stone just breast high, which commanded a much wider view. But still he could see nothing to shoot at; so he exposed himself, standing fairly up. _Pat_! Came a ball against a rock five yards on his right; it would not do for Wimbledon that. "Eh! They must practise a wee bit afore they challenge the Scottish team!" murmured Macintosh, as he dropped on one knee behind the stone over which he held his Martini-Henry at the ready, his eye being fixed on the spot the shot came from.