Whitestone was right. In a half hour a man appeared protecting his body with a heavy board as long as himself. He moved with slowness and awkwardness, but two or three bullets fired into the board seemed to make no impression. “At any rate, if he reaches the river and gets back all right it’s too slow a way to slake the thirst of many,” said Whitestone in the tone of a philosopher. Bucks’s face puffed out with anger. “They mustn’t get a drop!” he said with the freedom of a backwoodsman. “We’re to keep ’em from it; that’s what we’re here for.” The man looked fierce in his wrath and I did not reprove him, for after all he was right, though not very polite. The man in the tree fired, and a tiny patch of red cloth flew into the air. The bullet had cut his clothes, but it could not reach the man, who continued to shamble behind his board toward the river. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to stop him,” I said to Bucks. Bucks had crawled to the edge of the hill and was watching with the ferocity and rancor of a savage for a chance to shoot. Often I think that these men who live out in the forests among the savages learn to share their nature. I could not see because of the board, but I guessed that the man carried a bucket, or pail, in one hand. In truth I was right, for presently a corner of the pail appeared, and it was struck instantly by a bullet from the rifle of the man in the tree. “At any rate, we’ve sprung a leak in his pail for him,” said Whitestone. I began to take much interest in the matter. Not intending it, I felt like a hunter in pursuit of a wary animal. My scruples were forgotten for the moment. I found myself sighting along the barrel of my rifle seeking a shot. The Englishman had ceased for me to be a human being like myself. I caught a glimpse of a red-coat sleeve at the edge of the board and would have fired, but as my finger touched the trigger it disappeared and I held back. Whitestone was at my shoulder, the same eagerness showing on his face. The man in the tree had squirmed like a snake far out on the bough, and was seeking for a shot over the top of the board. The Englishman trailed himself and his protecting board along, and was within a yard of the water. Over the earthwork at the edge of the British camp the men were watching him. His friends were as eager for his success as we were to slay him. It was a rivalry that incited in us a stronger desire to reach him with the lead. In such a competition a man’s life becomes a very small pawn. For us the Englishmen had become a target, and nothing more. Bucks was the most eager of us. He showed his teeth like a wolf. The Englishman reached the water and stooped over to fill his pail. Bending, he forgot himself and thrust his head beyond the board. With a quickness that I have never seen surpassed, Bucks threw up his rifle and fired. The Englishman fell into the water as dead as a stone, and, his board and his pail falling too, floated off down the stream.