ot so bad with the use of one arm only," he muttered complaisantly.
"Hullo, here's the rain!"

With the typical fierceness of a tropical storm the rain beat down.
Hailstones as big as a walnut thudded the ground, rebounding a foot or
so in the air until all around was blotted out by the terrific
downpour. Underneath the waterproof sheet Dudley lay, knowing that
there was no chance of the sniper venturing from his lair while this
battery of nature's weapons was in action. It was almost pitch-black,
save for the phosphorescent-like light emanating from the falling rain.
Occasional vivid flashes of lightning o'erspread the sky, followed by
rumbling peals of thunder.

Taking particular pains to keep his rifle dry Wilmshurst lay close
until the initial downpour had passed. Then, acting as promptly as his
crippled condition would allow, he laid the muzzle of the weapon on a
fork of one of the bushes. As he expected he found that he could take
aim without much risk of being spotted, since the bush formed an
efficient screen.

Still no sign of the sniper. Wilmshurst had no definite idea of the
fellow's position. He could only surmise, basing his assumption on the
report of the rifle, that he was either on the kopje ahead or else
concealed behind one of the boulders on its side.

"Fritz knows how to play a waiting game too, I see," muttered
Wilmshurst, as he deliberately wiped off a globule of water that had
dropped upon the backsight of his rifle. "Hope he won't keep me
waiting about till after midnight. I must stick it till he shows up."

The wounded subaltern bore no animosity towards the man who had shot
him. In a true soldierly spirit he realised that the Hun had acted
like a sportsman. It was merely a question of which scout was the
sharper and Wilmshurst had been caught napping. Really he wanted to
congratulate Fritz upon his excellent shot, but before qualifying his
wishes on that score he must get his own back--shot for shot.

A thin haze of bluish smoke rose from a depression in the ground, and,
caught by the wind, eddied into obscurity.

"Silly juggins!" exclaimed Wilmshurst. "Bad habit smoking when you're
supposed to be _en perdu_. Now I know where to look for you."

The Hun was evidently arriving at a conclusion that he had "downed his
man," but with the intention of waiting a little longer he was not able
to resist the inclination of smoking a pipe.

Bringing the butt of his rifle to his shou