A Council of War

In the magic of a moment a dozen angry men were pouring from the
shaft-house, their guns barking viciously between their curses.
Beyond, at the edge of their dark cover, Hicks and Brown rose eagerly
to their knees, while their ready rifles spat swift return fire, not
all of it wasted. But Winston had vanished in the green underbrush as
completely as though he had dropped into the sea. When he finally
emerged it was behind the protecting chaparral, his clothing rags, his
breathing the sobs of utter exhaustion. Brown, the spell of battle
upon him, never glanced aside, his eyes along the brown rifle-barrel;
but Hicks sprang enthusiastically to his feet, uttering a growl of
hearty welcome.

"Damn it," he exclaimed, his old eyes twinkling with admiration, "but
you 're a man!"

The engineer smiled, his hand pressed hard against his side. "Maybe I
am," he gasped, "but I 'm mighty near all in just now. Say, that was a
lively spin, and it's got to be an eat and a rest for me next."

Hicks shaded his forehead, leaning on his rifle.

"Sometimes I reckon maybe I don't see quite as good as I used to," he
explained regretfully. "Put five shots inter that measly bunch over
thar just now, an' never saw even one o' 'em hop 'round like they got
stung. They look sorter misty-like ter me from here; say, Stutter,
what is a-happenin' over thar now, anyway?"

Brown wiped his face deliberately, sputtering fiercely as he strove to
get firm grip on his slow thought.