d-bone
inside out an' him not know anyting."

"Go steady, Bela Moshi," cautioned the subaltern. "Pass the word for
the men to fire one volley over their heads--but not before I give
orders--and then rush them with the bayonet. We want them alive,
remember."

A whistle rang out faintly away on the left. The call was repeated
much nearer, while distinct blasts rose through the heated air. It was
the signal for the advance.

Almost as soon as Wilmshurst put his whistle to his lips a crisp volley
from the rifles of his platoon rent the welkin, then with fierce shouts
the khaki-clad, barefooted Waffs leapt to their feet, their bayonets
glittering in the sun.

At first, too utterly astonished to realise that they were hopelessly
trapped and outnumbered, the Huns stood stock still, gazing stupidly at
the converging ring of steel. The Askaris for the most part attempted
to bolt, but finding their retreat cut off, grovelled in the dust.

"Hands up!" shouted Wilmshurst.

The three bearded Huns obeyed promptly and meekly. Of the others one
held up his arms with sullen reluctance, his flabby face distorted with
rage. The fifth, dropping on one knee, picked up a rifle and levelled
it at the on-rushing British officer.

"The fellow's showing pluck, by Jove!" was the thought that flashed
through Dudley's mind. Like all brave men he admired courage even in a
foe. The fact that running over rough ground and firing a revolver at
fifty yards did not give him much chance against a steadily held rifle
entered into his calculations.

Before the Hun could press trigger a score of rifles spoke. The Waffs,
on seeing their young officer's danger, took no chances, and the
German, his head and chest riddled with bullets, toppled over stone
dead upon the ground. As he fell his fingers closed convulsively
against the trigger of his rifle and the bullet intended for Wilmshurst
sung past the subaltern's left ear.

A loud yell from the other young Hun proclaimed the fact that he, too,
was hit. A bullet fired at the resisting German had been deflected,
passing through the fleshy part of his comrade's left arm. It was hard
luck on a surrendered prisoner, but on these occasions luck, both good
and bad, crops up at every available opportunity.

"Sorry, Fritz," exclaimed Wilmshurst apologetically. "Accident, you
know."

There was no time for explanation. Directing a Haussa to attend to the
Hun's injury and ordering others to ro