of his shots if I ride on like
this," he thought. "I'll dismount and stalk him."

Acting on the thought he pulled up sharply and leapt from the saddle,
the pony immediately dropping his head to graze. Then, flinging himself
on to hands and knees, he scrambled forward until he reached a patch of
long grass, where he lay full length, and, bringing his rifle to his
shoulder, pointed it in the direction of the Cossack and waited
breathlessly.

An instant later the Russian appeared in sight, and Phil pressed the
trigger; then, jumping to his feet, he rushed forward to secure his
prisoner, for the Cossack had dropped like a stone. He topped the
ridge, and was on the point of running down, when a bullet struck the
butt of his rifle and shattered it, while the Russian, who had been
merely acting, rose on one knee not fifty yards away, and commenced to
rapidly reload. What was Phil to do? He hesitated, but the sight of
some eight or nine more Cossacks galloping up to help their comrade
decided him.

"I'm off," he muttered hurriedly, and, dropping his useless rifle, he
took to his heels. It seemed as though he would never reach the pony,
but at last he did and, flinging himself astride it, galloped madly back
to the fort, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the Cossacks. They
had closed together, and, topping the rise at this moment, came
thundering down, shouting encouragement to one another.

Phil reached the cart, and was off the pony's back and in the fort in a
trice.

"Shake hands, old man!" exclaimed Tony grimly. "This here will be our
last. There's a hundred or more of these fellows charging."

"Nonsense! Pick up the rifles," gasped Phil. "Now get ready to give
them a volley. Sam, where are you?"

"Here, and ready to lend a hand, mate," the wounded man answered,
crawling from beneath the cart at that moment. "I've got hold of these
barkers," he said, with a grin, producing two pistols which he had taken
from the Cossacks lying dead close at hand, "and I bet yer if those
Russian coves gets close enough, I'll give 'em some of their own lead to
swallow."

But though the three put the best face on the matter, there was no doubt
that they were in desperate straits. The first volley failed miserably,
and already the fiery horsemen were within a hundred yards of the cart,
when there was a shout from behind, and to the joy of Phil and his
comrades a patrol of dragoons came cantering across the grass.