It is hardly ever possible to tell exactly where the shots come from.

But I noticed one man near the top of Tinta, who evidently had an old Martini which he valued much more than new-fangled things.

Whenever he fired a little puff of grey smoke followed, and I always thought I heard the growl of his bullet particularly close, as though he steadily aimed at some officer near by.

He sat under a bush, and had built himself a little wall of rocks in front.

Shell after shell was showered upon that rocky hillside, for it concealed many other sharpshooters besides.