standing up on top here."

This was the case. Another Cossack had ridden up, and, choosing a
convenient position within range, sat upon his pony, with only his head
showing above a ridge, and fired at Phil and his friends.

"This won't do," muttered Phil. "If he were in sight we could make it
warm for him, for our rifles carry farther. But as it is, he hits us at
every shot, while we might pour volleys in his direction, and only bag
him by the merest chance. There, didn't I say so?" he exclaimed, as a
second bullet whirred past between himself and Tony. "Look here, Tony,"
he continued, "climb down behind the boxes, and fire as often as you can
at the beggar. That will distract his attention."

"Yes, and what game are you up to, mate?" asked Tony wonderingly.

"I'm going to creep round and drive him off," Phil answered with
decision.

"Take my tip then and ride round, Phil. Soon as he sees you move he'll
change his position, but if you're riding you'll be able to stop his
game. But anyways I think the job belongs to me," he added, as if the
thought that his friend would be running into greater danger had
suddenly occurred to him. "You ain't the only chap as can ride, and as
you're boss here, should stay in command of our fort."

Phil looked at Tony sternly, and for the moment was on the point of
ordering him to do as he was told. But, changing his mind, he picked up
a rifle, and without a word dropped over the wall of boxes. The pony
was still standing, quietly cropping the grass, and did not move when he
disengaged the foot of the dead man from the stirrup. A second later he
had mounted, and, picking up the reins and holding his rifle across the
pommel of the saddle, nodded to Tony and cantered off.

Striking away to the left he galloped to the top of the rise, only to
find the Cossack spurring away from him, evidently with the intention of
gaining another post from which to fire.

"By George, I'll bag that chap!" muttered Phil. "It would be great to
rejoin the regiment with a captive."

Kicking his pony with his heels he was soon flying across the turf, the
nimble and sure-footed little animal leaping the few holes that came in
his path with an ease that showed how accustomed he was to it. Soon the
flying Cossack had disappeared over another ridge, and Phil was not
surprised to hear the report of a rifle a moment later and an angry hiss
above his head.

"He'll certainly knock me over with one