As they crept through the bushes, Robert heard the shouts and shots of both sides and saw the pink flashes of flame as the rifles were fired.

In the darkness it seemed confused and vague, but he knew that it was guided by order and precision.

Now and then a spent bullet pattered upon the leaves, and one touched him upon the wrist, stinging for a moment or two, but doing no harm.
But as they passed farther and farther to the west the noise of the battle behind them gradually sank, while that on the left horn of the crescent grew.
In a few more minutes they would be with the rangers who were pressing forward so strenuously at that point, and as Robert saw dusky figures rise from the bushes in front of them he believed they were already in touch.

Instead a dozen rifles flashed in their faces.

One of the rangers went down, shot through the head, dead before he touched the ground, three more sustained slight wounds, including Robert who was grazed on the shoulder, and all of them gave back in surprise and consternation.
But Willet, shrewd veteran of the forest, recovered himself quickly.
"Down, men! Down and give it back to 'em!" he cried.