"Troops, going into action, don't fire in that fashion." "I wonder of any of our men are firing back." "All I know," smiled Darrin, "is that we are not doing any shooting." Pss-seu! sang a stray bullet over their heads.

Only that brief hiss as the deadly leaden messenger sang past.
Pss-chug! That bullet caught Dalzell's uniform cap, carrying it from his head to a distance some forty feet rearward.
"Whew! That gives some idea of the spitefulness of a bullet, doesn't it ?" muttered Danny Grin, as a seaman ran for the ensign's cap and returned with it.
"It must be that I didn't get iron-rust enough on this white uniform," commented Dalzell, coolly, gazing down at the once white uniform that he had yellowed by a free application of iron rust.

"My clothing must still be white enough to attract the attention of a sharpshooter so distant that I don't know where he is." Still Trent held his command in waiting, for no orders had come to move it forward.
"The barracks are over there," said Dave, pointing.

"So far as I have been able to judge, none of the bullets come from that direction." Still the desultory firing continued.

The occasional shots that rang out showed, however, that the Americans were not firing in force.
"There they go!" called Lieutenant Trent, drawing attention to the nearest barracks.