That, too, was what was troubling the mountaineer.
At the first shot, Washington Washington had forsaken the harmonica and dived head first into the bushes where he lay, face down, a finger stuck in either ear.
Hippy's floundering finally ceased and the mountaineer could not find him.

Believing, perhaps, that he had hit his victim, the fellow began shooting into the camp of the Overlanders.
"I'm not going to lie here and let that fellow kill us all," declared Grace Harlowe, springing up and starting away on a zigzagging run.

"Keep down, all of you.

I'll fetch weapons," she called back.
Tom Gray, however, had forestalled her, and, leaping to his feet, had run back to the tethering ground, where the ponies and their equipment had been placed for the night, to fetch rifles.
Tom and Grace were back in a few moments, but instead of stepping out into the open space where the tents were pitched and the campfire was burning, they separated and crept around opposite sides of the camp, over which bullets continued to whistle at intervals.
"That you, Grace ?" demanded a cautious voice a few yards to her right.
"Hippy! Are you wounded ?" begged Grace.
"I _am_ not.

I'm trying to get to my rifle." "Here.