The Shawnees had crept much nearer, and were in a wide semicircle, hoping thus to uncover their foes, at least in part, and they had a little success, as one man, named Brewer, was hit in the fleshy part of the arm.
Paul saw nothing but the smoke and the flashes of fire, and he was wise enough to save his own ammunition--he had long since learned the border maxim, never to shoot until you saw something to shoot at.
But the enemy was creeping closer, hiding among rocks and bushes, and a second and longer spatter of rifle fire began.

One man was hit badly, and then the borderers began to seek targets of their own.

Their long, slender-barreled rifles flashed again and again, and more than one bullet went straight to the mark.

The plumes of white smoke grew more numerous, united sometimes, and floated away in little clouds among the trees.
Paul saw that his comrades were firing slowly, but with terrible effect, as five or six still, brown figures now lay in the open.

Shif'less Sol, at the next tree, only four feet away, was stretched almost perfectly flat on his face on the ground, and every movement he made seemed to be slow and deliberate.