“Look!” Grace pointed up at a spot on the mountains. “Look closely and you will see the flashes of the rifles that are shooting at us. Every time you see a flash, shoot at it!”
Hippy located the flashes instantly, and began firing at them, Grace observing and offering suggestions.
“What is he shooting at?” questioned the general.
“At the flashes of the guns up yonder on the mountain. If your eye is quick enough you can see them.”
General Gordon, who had reassured Mrs. Gordon and her companion by telling them that the storm had about blown itself out, at the same time cautioning both to keep down close to the ground so long as the shooting lasted, watched Lieutenant Wingate’s work with the rifle with interest.
After Hippy had twice emptied the magazine of the rifle, the fog clouds blotted out the peaks of the mountains and slowly settled down, drawing a mantle over the point from which the bullets had been coming, whereupon the fire from the mountains ceased and Lieutenant Wingate laid down his rifle.
“I hope that ends it for to-night,” said Grace. “I think the fog will hold pretty much as it is, so the next thing is a campfire if we can find enough fuel to start one.”
Ike was already engaged in this task. General Gordon, in the meantime, was assisting Mrs. Gordon and Miss Cartwright over to the fire which Ike was fanning into life with his sombrero.
“I am so sorry, Mrs. Gordon,” sympathized Grace, as the general’s wife began shaking out her wet, wrinkled skirt.
Mrs. Gordon laughed.