He heard a crash, and a bullet flattened itself against one of the rocks above his head.
"He ain't so slow, after all," he admitted grudgingly, referring to the concealed marksman.
He kneeled in the gully and looked cautiously over its edge.

The wagon was directly in front of him; part of one of the rear wheels was in his line of vision.

The horses were standing quietly, undisturbed by the shots.

He resolved to keep them where they were, and, exercising the greatest care, he found a good-sized rock and stuck it under the front of the rear wheel nearest him, thus blocking the wagon against them should they become restless.
The moon was at his back, and he grinned with satisfaction as he noted that the rocks behind him threw a deep shadow into the gully.

He could not help thinking that his enemy, whoever he was, had not made a happy selection of a spot for an ambuscade, for the moonlight's glare revealed every rock on the other side of the wagon, and the few trees in the wood behind the rocks were far too slender to provide shelter for a man of ordinary size.