from the north carried not only the noise, but soon the smoke of
the combat towards them. As they drew nearer a large detachment of
native spearmen was seen to make for the hillock, evidently intending to
make a stand there.

"Now comes _our_ turn," said Armstrong, examining the lock of his rifle
to see that all was right.

"`England expec's every man,' etceterer," said Molloy, with a glance at
Miles. "Capting, you may as well let us know your plans, so as we may
work together."

Miles was not long in making up his mind.

"You'll fire at first by command," he said quickly, but decidedly; "then
down on your faces flat, and load. After that wait for orders. When it
comes to the push--as it's sure to do at last--we'll stand back to back
and do our best. God help us to do it well! Don't hurry, boys--
especially in square. Let every shot tell."

He had barely concluded this brief address when the yelling savages
reached the hillock. Miles could even see the gleaming of their teeth
and eyes, and the blood of the slightly wounded coursing down their
black skins as they rushed panting towards the place where he and his
little party were crouching. Then he gave the word: "Ready--present!"

The smoke, fire, and death to the leading men, which belched from the
bushes, did not check the rush for more than a moment. And even that
check was the result of surprise more than fear. A party of those Arabs
who were armed with rifles instantly replied, but the bullets passed
harmlessly over the prostrate men.

Again the voice of Miles was heard: "Ready--present!" and again the
leading men of the enemy fell, but the rushing host only divided, and
swept round the hillock, so as to take it on both sides at once.

"Now--form square! and pick each man," cried Miles, springing up and
standing back to back with Armstrong. Molloy stood shoulder to shoulder
with him and backed Bill Simkin, while Stevenson did the same for Moses
Pyne. The bushes did not rise much above their waists, and as the dusky
host suddenly beheld the knot of strange-looking men, whose bristling
bayonets glistened in the setting sunshine, and whose active rifles were
still dealing death among their ranks, they dashed at the hill-top with
a yell of mingled rage and surprise. Another moment and spearmen were
dancing round the little square like incarnate fiends, but the white men
made no sound. Each confined himself to two acts--namely, load and
fire--an