They did it with a method and a regard for mathematics that filled Warner's soul with delight, firing in turn and planting their bullets in a line along the front of the clump, cutting down everything like a mower with a scythe.
Dick with the glasses saw the ice fly into the air in a silver spray as bush after bush fell.

Presently they were all cut away by that stream of heavy bullets, but no human being was disclosed.
"He's just gone over the other side of the ridge," said Warner in disgust, "and is waiting there until we finish.

We couldn't shoot through a mountain, even if we had one of our biggest cannon here.

He'll find another clump of bushes soon and be potting us from it." "But we can shoot that away too," said Dick hopefully.
"We can't shoot down all the forests on the mountain.

He must have heavy hobnails, or, like the mountaineers, he has drawn thick yarn socks over his boots, else he couldn't scoot about on the ice the way he does." "Ah, there goes his rifle, behind the clump of bushes to the right of the one that we shot away!" A second man was wounded by the bullet, and then an extraordinary siege ensued, a siege of three hundred men by a single sharpshooter on top of a mountain as smooth as glass.