"I believe both your statements."
"Is it your recollection that these hedges continue far, Carstairs?" asked Wharton.
"Five or six miles at least."
"That's mine too, but I hoped I was wrong. It gives those bushwackers an advantage. With the hedges right beside us we can't see well over them, but they on the hills at a distance can look down on us."
"You Yankees are sometimes right, Wharton, and this is one of the times. Those fellows, whoever they are, will probably get a few more shots at us. I'll lay you two to one they don't hit us."
"I never bet against my sympathies. Ping! didn't you hear it! There was a bullet, five seconds after you offered to bet."
"Yes, I know it. Here's the lock of hair it cut from my head."
He took the hair from his coat, where it had fallen, and let it flutter away. He did not show any alarm. Already it had become the pride of the three never to betray apprehension. John's face was like a mask, although his heart was beating hard. A whistle over his head showed that a bullet had passed there and he heard its plunk as it buried itself in a tree on the other side of the road.
He remembered with some consolation that the modern, small, high-powered rifle bullet, unless it killed, did not do so very much harm. It went through one so fast that it did not tear flesh or break bones, and the wounds it made were quick to heal.
Ping! Ping! and once more ping! They reached the crest of the hill and went swiftly down the other slope.