The guide sprang up, showing himself out on the ledge for one brief instant then throwing himself flat.
A sharp "ping" against the rocks, followed by a heavy report, told the story. The guide had been not a second too soon in getting out of harm's way, for the bullet would have gone right through him had he remained standing.
Quick as a flash Kringle's rifle leaped to his shoulder, and he fired. He had taken quick aim at a puff of smoke off toward the camp.
Not content with one shot he raked the bushes all about where the puff of smoke had been seen, emptying the magazine of the rifle in a few seconds.
Stacy Brown was fairly dancing with glee.
"Did you hit anything?" asked the boys breathlessly.
"Of course, I hit something; but whether I winged an Indian or not, I don't know. If I did, he probably is not seriously wounded. You'll hear a redskin yell when he's hit bad."
"That one I punched didn't. He was hit hard," volunteered Stacy.
"He didn't have time," grinned Tad. "You were too quick for him."
"Look out! There comes a volley!" warned Mr. Kringle.