could do was to duck. His experience as a fighting
aviator in France had made Hippy somewhat callous to bullets, as well as
an expert in ducking. In the present instance, Lieutenant Wingate made
so many ducks and dives, side-slips and Immelman turns that the
mountaineer, crack shot that he was, found himself unable to score a
hit. The darkness, too, prevented his getting a good sight at the man he
was trying to shoot.

Back in the camp the rest of the Overland outfit were lying flat on the
ground, just as they used to do in France when they heard a shell
coming, which might be due to land somewhere near them. Not one of them
had a weapon handy, nor would they have dared use them had weapons been
at hand, because there was no telling where Hippy Wingate was at any
given second. 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. Take mine. Look out for Tom. He is on the opposite side of the
camp. We agreed not to go beyond the edge of the clearing so there might
be no danger of our hitting each other. He is looking for the
'shereef.'"

"I'll fix him. Hark! Did you hear that?"

"Yes. It was a revolver shot on beyond where Tom is," answered Grace.

"There it goes again. Tom must be using his revolver. A hit! Somebody
yelled," cried Lieutenant Wingate. "I hope it is