A bullet, striking directly in front of me, filled my
eyes with sand. For the moment I thought I was shot.

"Done it a-purpose," Jed sneered as I scrambled to my feet. He had stood
and waited for me.

I caught his idea. He thought I had fallen deliberately in order to
spill my water and go back for more. This rivalry between us was a
serious matter--so serious, indeed, that I immediately took advantage of
what he had imputed and raced back to the spring. And Jed Dunham,
scornful of the bullets that were puffing dust all around him, stood
there upright in the open and waited for me. We came in side by side,
with honours even in our boys' foolhardiness. But when we delivered the
water Jed had only one pailful. A bullet had gone through the other pail
close to the bottom.

Mother took it out on me with a lecture on disobedience. She must have
known, after what I had done, that father wouldn't let her smack me; for,
while she was lecturing, father winked at me across her shoulder. It was
the first time he had ever winked at me.

Back in the rifle pit Jed and I were heroes. The women wept and blessed
us, and kissed us and mauled us. And I confess I was proud of the
demonstration, although, like Jed, I let on that I did not like all such
making-over. But Jeremy Hopkins, a great bandage about the stump of his
left wrist, said we were the stuff white men were made out of--men like
Daniel Boone, like Kit Carson, and Davy Crockett. I was prouder of that
than all the rest.

The remainder of the day I seem to have been bothered principally with
the pain of my right eye caused by the sand that had been kicked into it
by the bullet. The eye was bloodshot, mother said; and to me it seemed
to hurt just as much whether I kept it open or closed. I tried both
ways.

Things were quieter in the rifle pit, because all had had water, though
strong upon us was the problem of how the next water was to be procured.
Coupled with this was the known fact that our ammunition was almost
exhausted. A thorough overhauling of the wagons by father had resulted
in finding five pounds of powder. A very little more was in the flasks
of the men.

I remembered the sundown attack of the night before, and anticipated it
this time by crawling to the trench before sunset. I crept into a place
alongside of Laban. He was busy chewing tobacco, and did not notice me.
For some time I watched him, fearing that when he discovered me he would