He was still watching the hillock, wondering how many men were encamped on the farther slope, when he noticed a dark shape rise upon the crest. Its outlines were clearly visible in contrast with the snow-covered ground, and in a moment Bob recognized the form as the head and shoulders of a Manchu. The man had apparently just spread his cloak before him, for he bent down face forwards, until only his head was visible, a dark motionless patch at the summit of the hill. A minute or two passed, then Bob saw a faint puff of smoke just below the crouching Manchu, and immediately afterwards a metallic "splat" was heard on the rock close to Bob’s elbow. The man had evidently posted himself with the object of taking pot-shots at any of the Chunchuses who incautiously afforded him a target. His rifle was a good one, and that he was a good marksman was soon proved, for a second puff of smoke was followed, not by the sound of a bullet striking the rock, but by a howl of pain from one of the defenders, whose arm, overlapping the edge of the rock behind which he stood, had been pierced by the Manchu’s shot. Only half a minute later, a third shot was even more accurate; a man’s head showed above a rock, and with a suddenness that startled everyone he fell back, dead. The movements which had exposed the defenders to the aim of the Manchu marksman were partly due to the impatient rage of the Chunchuses at their inability to retaliate. Bob saw that a succession of such incidents would destroy their nerve and demoralize them. He was himself a good marksman; at eight hundred yards he had more than once scored a possible on the butts at Darnley; and the sight of the dead man by his side banished his last feeling of compunction at taking an active part. Removing his cloak and cap to reduce his height and bulk as much as possible, he cautiously made his way to the boulder at which the Chunchuses were least huddled. As he ran across a few yards of exposed space, bullets pattered all around him; a man at the edge of the boulder for which he was making raised his hand to his cheek, and withdrew it covered with blood; a splinter of lead or rock had inflicted a slight jagged wound. The man looked at his hand with stolid indifference, and wiped it on his coat. It was evident that there were other marksmen on the crest of the hill, though only the Manchu was in sight. This incident had the curious effect of steadying Bob’s nerve, and when he reached the boulder he was able to take a quiet look round.