the beaten-down jungle alley, till, dropping spear
and kris, the Malays fled for their lives.

Others were hurrying up to be present at the massacre; for the news had
spread that the English had fired their last cartridge and were weak
with starvation; but as they met their flying comrades the panic spread.
The reinforcements were magnified a hundred times; and it wanted but
Bob Roberts' quick sharp halt, form in line two deep, and the firing in
of a couple of volleys, to send all to the right-about, a few of the
hindmost getting a prick of the bayonet before they got away.

Pursuit would have been in vain, so Bob left a picket of five men under
Old Dick to keep the narrow path, bidding them fell a tree or two so
that their branches might lie towards and hinder an attack from the
enemy, before hurrying back with fourteen men to the little jungle camp.

He tried hard, but he could not keep back his tears as the gaunt
bleeding remains of a fine body of men gathered round him to grasp his
hands and bless him; while, when one strange-looking little naked object
came up and seized him by the shoulders, he felt almost ready to laugh.

It was hard to believe it was Dr Bolter standing there, in a pair of
ragged trousers reduced in length to knee breeches, and nothing else.

"Bob, my dear boy," he said, "I can't tell you how glad I am; but give
me some rum, biscuits, anything you have, for my poor lads are perishing
for want of food."

The men's wallets were being emptied, and food and ammunition were
rapidly distributed, for not a scrap of provision nor a single cartridge
was left with the major's party.

"Why, you are laughing at me, you dog," cried the doctor, as he came
back for more provisions; "but just you have forty patients, Bob
Roberts, many of them wounded, and not a bandage to use, Bob, my lad!
My handkerchiefs, neck and pocket, went first; then my Norfolk jacket,
and then my shirt. Poor lads! poor brave lads!" he said piteously; "I'd
have taken off my skin if it would have done them good."

"Ah, doctor," said Bob, in a voice full of remorse, "I'm only a boy yet,
and a very thoughtless one. Pray forgive me. I meant no harm."

"God bless you, my lad; I know that," cried the doctor, warmly. "You've
saved us all. Boy, indeed? Well, so you are, Bob; but as long as
England has plenty of such boys as you, we need not trouble ourselves
about the men--they'll all come in time."

It was a pitiful task, but eve