The spurt of fire leaped forth and the bullet sang by the ear of Langlade, singing to him a little song of caution as it passed, telling such a wary partisan as he that his stump was a very exposed stump, dangerous to the last degree, and that it would be better for him to find one somewhere else.
Robert did not see the Owl go away, but he was quite sure that he had gone, because it was just the sort of thing that such a skilled forest fighter would do.

The fog thickened again, and, in a few more minutes, both lines shifted somewhat.

Then he had to watch new stumps at new points, and his thoughts were once more in tune with those about him, concentrated on the battle and the man-hunt.
A bullet tipped his ear, and he saw that it came from a stump hardly visible in the fog.

The sharpshooter was not likely to be Langlade again, and, at once, it became Robert's ambition to put him out of action.

No consideration of mercy or humanity would restrain him now, if he obtained a chance of a good shot, and he waited patiently for it.