harp report of a rifle, the bullet
knocking splinters from one of the cross-pieces of the stockade--and
then utter silence.

"Dashed if I can stick this!" declared Wilmshurst. "I'll go out and
sec what's doing. With luck I'll be back in an hour."

"Very good," agreed the Rhodesian patrol-commander. "Give the word
'Buluwayo' for the countersign. Good luck!"

Without loss of time the subaltern started on his mission of
investigation. Once clear of the kraal he realised a sense of
loneliness. He would have given almost all he possessed for the
companionship of his trusty Bela Moshi. Then, shaking off the
instinctive depression, he devoted his thoughts to the work on hand.

He was taking a different route from the one he had followed on the
occasion of the capture of the machine-gun. It was unfamiliar ground,
flat and totally devoid of cover. Ahead lay a line of dark shadows
that marked the commencement of the encircling bush. It was only
slightly over a quarter of a mile away, but the distance seemed
interminable as he slowly and cautiously held on.

Once he stood stock still, his heart beating violently. Ten yards
ahead a man lay prone on the short grass. The faint starlight glinted
on the barrel of a rifle, which was pointed straight at the lone
subaltern.

Momentarily Wilmshurst expected to see the blinding flash of the rifle.
The fellow was a long time lingering over the sights, he thought. The
young officer moved a couple of paces to the right. The sinister
muzzle seemed to be following him, tantalisingly menacing.

Acting upon a sudden impulse Wilmshurst flung himself flat on the
ground. After a pause he raised his head and looked towards the
sniper, for such he took him to be. The man had not stirred. His
rifle was cocking upwards at an acute angle to the ground, "I believe a
dead Hun has given me cold feet," muttered the subaltern, and creeping
stealthily he made a wide detour round the rigidly immovable figure.
Then, satisfied up to a certain point, he crawled towards the
motionless object.

It was an Askari. The man was one of the first to be shot during the
onslaught. He had fallen face downwards, but still grasped his rifle
in such a position that there was good reason for mistaking him for a
sniper.

From this point Wilmshurst resumed his outward journey, proceeding on
hands and knees and halting at frequent intervals to place his ear to
the ground. He could detect no audible ev