as busy.

The end of a strong roughly made ladder swung through the smoke and
banged against the ledge. Before Jenks could reach it those hoisting it
into position hastily retreated. They were standing in front of the
cave and the Mahommedan made play on them with a Lee-Metford at thirty
feet.

Jenks, using his crowbar as a lever, toppled the ladder clean over. It
fell outwards and disconcerted a section of the musketeers.

"Well done," cried Iris.

The sailor, astounded by her tone, gave her a fleeting glance. She was
very pale now, but not with fear. Her eyes were slightly contracted,
her nostrils quivering, her lips set tight and her chin dimpled. She
had gone back thirty generations in as many seconds. Thus might one of
the daughters of Boadicea have looked whilst guiding her mother's
chariot against the Roman phalanx. Resting on one knee, with a revolver
in each hand, she seemed no puling mate for the gallant man who fought
for her.

She caught his look.

"We will beat them yet!" she cried again, and she smiled, not as a
woman smiles, but with the joy of a warrior when the fray is toward.

There was no time for further speech. Three ladders were reared against
the rock. They were so poised and held below that Jenks could not force
them backwards. A fourth appeared, its coarse shafts looming into sight
like the horns of some gigantic animal. The four covered practically
the whole front of the ledge save where Mir Jan cleared a little space
on the level.

The sailor was standing now, with the crowbar clenched in both hands.
The firing in the valley slackened and died away. A Dyak face, grinning
like a Japanese demon, appeared at the top of the ladder nearest to
Iris.

"Don't fire!" shouted Jenks, and the iron bar crushed downwards. Two
others pitched themselves half on to the ledge. Now both crowbar and
revolver were needed. Three ladders were thus cumbered somewhat for
those beneath, and Jenks sprang towards the fourth and most distant.
Men were crowding it like ants. Close to his feet lay an empty
water-cask. It was a crude weapon, but effective when well pitched, and
the sailor had never made a better shot for a goal in the midst of a
hard-fought scrimmage than he made with that tub for the head of the
uppermost pirate.

Another volley came from the sands. A bullet ploughed through his hair,
and sent his sou'wester flying. Again the besiegers swarmed to the
attack. One way or the other, they must suc