It was hard work, for the tree was thick and he could not get a good grip on it with his arms. But he persisted until he reached the first limb and drew himself up on it. Then he examined his rifle carefully and with the utmost caution began to work his way among the branches.
Some of these were so thick as to be themselves almost like tree trunks, and he had no apprehension on the score of his weight. He passed to the next tree, and then to the next. There he paused, parting the branches carefully.
He knew that his comrades were keeping their part of the bargain, for the thud of bullets against the tree that sheltered the enemy was almost continuous.
For several minutes Frank looked for his enemy. Then his search was rewarded, and through an open space he found himself looking squarely into the eyes of the man who, a few minutes before, had tried to send a bullet through his brain.
The man saw him at the same instant. Like a flash he leveled his rifle and fired.
For such a hurried aim the shot was good. Frank felt the whistle of the bullet as it almost grazed him. But it was not good enough.
The next instant Frank's rifle spoke. The man flung out his arms, toppled over and fell with a crash into the gorge that the tree overhung. The rifle clanged after him. There would be no more sniping by that particular marksman from that particular tree.
There was a shout from the squad who had witnessed the duel, and as Frank slid down the tree he was greeted with acclamations.
"A nervy thing, Sheldon," commended Wilson.
"He almost got me, though," returned Frank. "It was a case of touch and go."