up a
panic. The wretched creatures fell like flies in the darkness. Then
came flight. Headlong flight. The panic which Bill had sought.

In half an hour from the moment of the first break the position was
restored. Within an hour Kars knew the Battle of Bell River had been
won. But it had been won at a cost he had never reckoned upon. The
margin of victory had been the narrowest.

Abe had been able to complete his work in the cold businesslike manner
which was all his own. The attack from the river was an unsupported
diversion with forces limited to its need. How nearly it had succeeded
no doubt remained. But in that direction Abe's heavy hand had fallen
in no measured fashion. Those of the landing party who were not
awaiting burial on the foreshore were meeting death in the deep waters
of the swiftly flowing river. Even the smashed canoes were flotsam on
the bosom of the tide.

The battle degenerated from the moment of the failure of the intended
breach. There was no further attack in force. Small, isolated raids
came at intervals only to be swept back by rifle fire from the
embankments. These, and a desultory and notoriously wild fire, which,
to the defence, was a mere expression of impotent, savage rage, wore
the long night through. Kars had achieved his desire. The night had
been fought out, and the defence had held.

Kars was standing in the doorway of the storehouse where Bill was
calmly prosecuting his work of mercy. The doctor's smallish figure was
moving rapidly about the crowded hut. His preoccupation was heart
whole. He had eyes and thought for nothing but those injured bodies
under their light blanket coverings, and the groans of suffering that
came from lips, which, in health, were usually tainted with blasphemy.

All Kars' thoughts were at the moment concerned with the busy man.
That array of figures had already told him its story. A painful story.
A story calculated to daunt a leader. Just now he was thinking how his
debt to this man was mounting up. Years of intimate friendship had
been sealed by incident after incident of devotion. Now he felt that
he owed his present being to the prompt response to his signal of
distress. But Bill had never failed him. Bill would never fail when
loyalty was demanded. He breathed devotion in every act of his life.
There could be no thanks between them. There never had been thanks
between them. Their bond was too deep, too strong for t