Jack turned and looked away off to where those billows of white and gray and greenish-colored smoke hid most of what was taking place beyond the shifting screen.
“I wonder where it really came from?” he exclaimed, “and if it was only a random shot, or did that gunner mean to hit this cupola?”
“Well, I must say you take it mighty cool, Jack!”
“What’s the use of getting worked up over it?” demanded the ranch boy, who had learned long ago how to control his emotions even under the most trying conditions.
“But they may bombard us again?” expostulated Amos.
“I give you my word for it, Amos, I won’t wait for a third invitation to get out. If another shot comes anywhere near here we’ll go down in a hurry. But I hardly believe that was intentional.”
Amos, however, was hard to convince.
“Of course they’ve got powerful glasses—I mean the officers directing the fire of that battery?” he ventured.
“That goes without saying, Amos.”
“And if they chanced to look this way they’d see us here, though of course they couldn’t tell who or what we were. Now, Jack, wouldn’t it be natural for them to think some high British officers had climbed up into this lookout so as to make use of it as a watch tower?”