But the guerrilla moved swiftly along the knife-edge of the ridge, obviously sure of his footing, and before any of them could fire, dropped down behind a little group of cedars.

Every stem and bough was cased in a sheath of silver mail, but they hid him well.

Dick, with his glasses, could not discern a single outline of the man behind the glittering tracery.
But as they looked, a head of red appeared suddenly in the silver, smoke floated away, and a bullet knocked up the ice near them.

They scattered in lively fashion, and from shelter watched the silver bush.
A second bullet came from its foliage and wounded slightly a man who was carrying wood to one of the fires.

But the annoying sharpshooter remained invisible.
"He's lying down on the ice like a Sioux or Cheyenne in a gully," said Pennington.
"Maybe he has a gully in the ice," said Dick, "and he can crouch here and shoot at us all day, almost in perfect safety." But Colonel Winchester appeared and ordered a score of the men, with the heaviest rifles, to shoot away the entire clump of cedars.