lad. "Ketched it on a stone outer sight, sir.
My! I did go down a rum un."

"Not wounded?" cried Bracy joyfully.

"Not me, sir! Yah! they can't shoot. Here, I say, mateys, where's my
bay'net? There it is."

Gedge limped to where it lay with the hilt just visible amongst the
shrubs, and he made a dart to get it, but overrated his powers. He
seized the bayonet from where it had been jerked by his fall, but went
down upon his face in the act, and when raised again he looked round
with a painful grin upon his lips.

"Got a stone in my foot, p'raps, gen'lemen," he said.

"Carry him!" said Roberts briefly; and the men were lowering their arms
to take the poor fellow between them, but he protested loudly.

"No, no; I can walk, sir," he cried. "One o' them just give me an arm
for a bit. Leg's a bit numbed, that's all. Look out, mates. Bees is
swarming fast."

For the enemy had stationary marks for their bullets now, and they were
falling very closely around.

"In amongst the trees there," cried Roberts; and the shelter ahead was
gained, Gedge walking by the help of one of his comrades, and then
crouching with the rest.

But the shelter was too slight, and it became evident that they were
seen from the shelves and niches occupied by the enemy, for the bullets
began to come thickly, sending leaves and twigs pattering down upon the
halting party's heads.

"We must get on," said Roberts after an anxious look out ahead.

"All right," said Bracy. "We may leave the scoundrels behind."

"Behind, sir? Yus, sir," cried Gedge, who had caught the last word.
"You go on, sir, and I'll lie down here till you sends some of the lads
to fetch me in."

"What's left of him," thought Bracy, "after the brutes have been at him
with their knives."

"Can you walk at all?" said Roberts quietly.

Gedge rose quickly.

"Yus, sir," he cried. "There, it aren't half so bad now. Felt as if I
hadn't got no foot at all for a time. Hurts a bit, sir. Here, I'm all
right."

Roberts looked at him keenly without speaking. Then he cried:

"Rise quickly at the word; take two paces to the right, and drop into
cover again. Make ready. Attention!"

The little manoeuvre was performed, and it had the expected result. A
scattered volley of twenty or thirty shots made the twigs about them
fly, the fire of the enemy being drawn--the fire of old-fashioned,
long-barrelled matchlocks, which took time to reload and prime.

"Forward!"