Part 12 (2/2)

CHAPTER XII

THE DRUGGED DETACHMENT

A scouting party was being made up a few days later, and the Army Boys were glad that they were included in it. In the region where they were stationed the woods were thick, and there was a sort of ”twilight zone”

that afforded excellent opportunities for individual fighting. The lines were rather loosely kept, and it was no uncommon occurrence to have raiding parties slip across, have a brush with their opponents, and retire with what forage or prisoners they might be lucky enough to take.

There had been a good deal of ”sniping” that, while it only caused occasional losses, was a source of hara.s.sment and irritation, and Frank's squad had orders to ”get” as many of these sharpshooters as possible.

A little way from the camp there was a deep gorge. Along its top were many huge trees whose branches reached far out over the precipice.

They drew so close together that their branches in many cases were interwoven.

The squad was moving along without any attempt to keep formation in such rough country, when there was the crack of a rifle and a bullet zipped close by Frank's ear.

He started back.

”Did it get you, Frank?” called out Bart in alarm.

”No,” replied Frank, ”but it came closer than I care to think about.”

At the corporal's command they took shelter behind trees, from which they scanned the locality in the direction from which the shot had come.

There was no trace of any concealed marksman, search the coverts as they would. But that he was there, and that he was an enemy to be dreaded, was shown a moment later when a bullet ridged the fingers of the hand that Billy had incautiously exposed.

With an exclamation, Billy put his bleeding fingers to his mouth. The injury was slight and Bart bound his hand up for him, using extreme care to keep behind the trees.

”We have to hand it to that fellow,” remarked the corporal. ”He certainly knows how to shoot.”

”I'd hand him something if I only knew where he was,” growled Billy.

”I know where he is,” said Frank.

”Do you?” asked the corporal eagerly.

”Where?”

”In the tallest of that clump of trees on the edge of the gorge,”

replied Frank. ”I caught a glimpse of his rifle barrel the last time he fired.”

”We'll give him a volley,” decided the corporal, and a moment later, at his command, the rifles rang out.

Several times this was repeated in the hope that one of the bullets would find its mark. But the tree trunk was enormously thick and bullets imbedded themselves in it without injury to the marksman, snugly sheltered on the further side.

If they could have surrounded the tree and shot from different sides there would have been no trouble in bagging their quarry. But the tree had been cunningly chosen for the reason that the further side hung over the precipice and could only be attacked from the side where the party now were.

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