Presently he observed that only one gun was blazing away at his supposed position and he suspected a ruse. This fellow was trying to keep Gill’s attention, or to draw his fire; others would make a detour and try to surprise him from behind. Well, he’d be ready to give them a warm reception.
He had not long to wait. Directly back of the place that he had just occupied he saw the bushes sway a little. He did not take his eyes from the spot and presently a German cap came slowly up above the mass of foliage, followed by a pair of staring eyes that spied Gill just as the latter fired. The cap flew into the air, the eyes disappeared from the mountaineer’s view and he ejaculated, half aloud:
“Sho! I done missed him. Here’s fer gettin’ him, though.” With that, not having rifle cartridges to waste, Gill drew his automatic and sent a half dozen bullets into the bushes, low down. The only immediate result, as far as he could be aware, was some Hun language and the sound of hasty retreat, evidently of at least four or five men who had been advancing close together upon him. They must have either imagined themselves outnumbered, or else the leader or several of them had been hit.
Gill chuckled to himself and remarked sotto voce:
“Guess my ol’ buddy Jen was about right in thinkin’ he could ’a’ licked the whole Hun army, give him a show.” Then he turned his attention again to the sniper down the hill and at last, locating that fellow behind a fallen tree, he set himself to stopping him, which his third bullet effectually did. Having the habit of talking to himself, as probably without exception every lone hunter has, Gill further indulged in it now.
“Reckon my twenty minutes is up, but I got t’ wait here a bit an’ see they don’t try fer to work that field piece some more. They will try it an’ groun’ hog shootin’ ain’t no touch t’ the sport o’ stoppin’ these fellers. Reckon they ain’t goin’ t’ try t’ come after me again right off.”
The mountaineer lay there for fully fifteen minutes longer and nothing occurred as far as he could see. The cannon was as lonesome as though in the middle of the Desert of Sahara; no one approached it. Gill worked himself down into a comfortable sort of nest amid dry moss and leaves in the warm sunshine and still waited.
It is hard to believe that under stress of such circumstances sleep would come to one unawares. But the mountaineer had not closed his eyes for more than forty-eight hours and outraged nature must assert its natural protest. Before the poor fellow was conscious of the danger to himself his head dropped on his outstretched arm and he was actually snoring.
He awoke after a time at the sound of a gruff voice above him and glancing up he beheld the muzzle of a gun not six inches from his head. Words that he did not understand followed. His rifle was snatched away. But with the quickness of a wildcat the Yank was half on his feet, reaching for his automatic and meaning to kill or be killed.
A blow descended upon his head; he dodged it in part, but it struck the pistol from his hand. He leaped at the fellow who was striking at him with the butt of his gun, catching the Hun a wood wrestling grip around the waist. The two went down together, Gill on top, and no sooner had he thrown his man than he tried to get away from him. But his antagonist was a big chap, with muscles like iron and hands like hams; he held to Gill with a grip that seemed impossible to break. In doing this, however, both hands were kept so busy for a time that a weapon could not be used.