I stooped at a pool to scoop up water and splash my face and neck.

When I looked up a moment later I could see none of them.
At that instant, when I could actually smell the great brutes crashing in the forest, unseen within a hundred yards of me, and would have given all I had or hoped for just to have a friend within speaking distance, a shot rang out in the forest ahead, and rattled from tree to tree like the echo of a skirmish.

It was not from Fred's gun, or Will's.

It was the phantom rifleman at work again.
Schillingschen--Schillingschen's ghost--or whoever he was, he could not have timed his fusillade better for our undoing.

The first shot was followed by six more in swift succession.