The other, wild with fright, kept turning his head to every quarter of the compass.

Another bullet passed close to his head.

This was too much for him, and with a yell he ran away.
As I broke through the thicket I looked to the quarter whence the bullets had come.

These, I could have taken my oath, were not fired by my friends on the farther bank.

It was close-quarter shooting, and I knew who had done it.