Turning his head he saw the leading Rebel stagger and fall.
Harry threw his gun up, with the readiness acquired in old hunting days, and fired at the next of his foes, who also fell! The other Rebels, as they came up, gathered around their fallen comrades.
Harry ran back to where the stranger was, as rapidly as the clinging mud and the steep hillside would permit him.
"Purty fa'r shot that," said the stranger, setting down the heavy rifle he was carefully reloading, and extending his hand cordially as Harry came panting up.

"That's what I call mouty neat shooting--knock yer man over at 150 yards, down hill, with that ole smooth-bore, and without no rest.

The oldest han' at the business couldn't've done no better." Harry was too much agitated to heed the compliment to his marksmanship.
He looked back anxiously and asked: "Are they coming on yet ?" "Skacely they hain't," said the stranger, with a very obvious sneer.
"Skacely they hain't comin' on no more.

They've hed enuff, they hev.

Two of their best men dropt inter blue blazes on the first jump will take all the aidge off ther appetite for larks.