the others were unarmed. Their movements were grotesque and horrible,
their forms gigantic.

Suddenly he heard a sharp report and something struck the water
smartly within a few inches of his head, spattering his face with
spray. He heard a second report, and saw one of the sentinels with
his rifle at his shoulder, a light cloud of blue smoke rising from the
muzzle. The man in the water saw the eye of the man on the bridge
gazing into his own through the sights of the rifle. He observed that
it was a gray eye and remembered having read that gray eyes were
keenest, and that all famous marksmen had them. Nevertheless, this one
had missed.

A counter-swirl had caught Farquhar and turned him half round; he was
again looking at the forest on the bank opposite the fort. The sound
of a clear, high voice in a monotonous singsong now rang out behind
him and came across the water with a distinctness that pierced and
subdued all other sounds, even the beating of the ripples in his ears.
Although no soldier, he had frequented camps enough to know the dread
significance of that deliberate, drawling, aspirated chant; the
lieutenant on shore was taking a part in the morning's work. How
coldly and pitilessly--with what an even, calm intonation, presaging,
and enforcing tranquility in the men--with what accurately measured
interval fell those cruel words:

"Company! . . . Attention! . . . Shoulder arms! . . . Ready!. . .
Aim! . . . Fire!"

Farquhar dived--dived as deeply as he could. The water roared in his
ears like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dull thunder of the