He turned and crouchingly approached the southern end of his parapet.

Through his screen of grass he could discern the long black hair and yellow face of a man who lay on the sand and twisted his head around the base of the further cliff.

The distance, oft measured, was ninety yards, the target practically a six-inch bull's-eye.

Jenks took careful aim, fired, and a whiff of sand flew up.
Perhaps he had used too fine a sight and ploughed a furrow beneath the Dyak's ear.

He only heard a faint yell, but the enterprising head vanished and there were no more volunteers for that particular service.
He was still peering at the place when a cry of unmitigated anguish came from Iris-- "Oh, come quick! Our water! The casks have burst!" It was not until Jenks had torn the tarpaulin from off their stores, and he was wildly striving with both hands to scoop up some precious drops collected in the small hollows of the ledge, that he realized the full magnitude of the disaster which had befallen them.
During the first rapid exchange of fire, before the enemy vacated the cliff, several bullets had pierced the tarpaulin.