“Only enough to prove that the enemy are well on the watch,” said the doctor, after he had seen to the wounded mule, “and a warning to us that we must not relax our care.”
Griggs had by this time descended from the terrace, it having been his rifle that had put an end to the coming of the arrows.
“Hardly thought they could have shot so far,” he said; “but after all, they didn’t get an arrow much more than half-way here. Say, didn’t do you much good, Master Chris, hurrying back like that.”
“I’m afraid it’s the mustang that has suffered,” said Chris. “I didn’t hurt, only it was dreadfully hard to find that I couldn’t run.”
“You ought to be very thankful that you can walk, Chris,” said the doctor quietly. “It is next door to marvellous that you should have escaped without a broken bone. But now then, Griggs, matters begin to look serious. What is to be done?”
“That’s just what I have been thinking, sir. The enemy isn’t a bit satisfied, and the next time they begin making targets of us they may be more fortunate.”
“What I am afraid of is that they may now get upon the high ground above us here.”
“And that would be awkward, sir,” said the American thoughtfully. Then after a pause—“We’ve got the whip hand of them with our rifles.”
“Of course.”
“And we’ve shown them a little of what we can do, but not enough. There’s only one thing left now.”