d with the knowledge that
the Darwanis were thirsting to fire to induce them to obey. The mask
was worn very thin now, however, and Charteris hardly dared turn his
eyes from them even to receive his returning heroes, who had duly
dashed at the guns, dismounted them and tumbled them into the swamp,
and ridden back--all that were left of them--under a heavy fire from
the concealed matchlockmen on the other side. The promised rewards
were duly bestowed on two gory figures, and Charteris returned to the
bush which had afforded him partial shelter at intervals during the
day, and wondered how long the Granthis would maintain even the
pretence of obedience if Gerrard did not come.

As the thought passed through his mind, it seemed to him that a deeper
and more distant boom mingled with the sound of Chand Singh's cannon,
and the nearer popping of his musketry, and when he listened he heard
it again. The two signal shots! Yes, Gerrard was coming, was
evidently attacking the enemy's left, where their main camp was
situated. At first there was no cessation either in the cannonade
poured into Charteris's force or in the musketry-fire, but gradually
both slackened. Evidently Chand Singh was withdrawing his forces from
this front, but whether it was to employ them against Gerrard or to
make good his retreat there was no means of knowing. The trying thing
was that even now Charteris could not venture to loose his Darwanis on
the foe, for the accession of the Granthis to Chand Singh's ranks might
turn the tide in the enemy's favour, and he was not sanguine enough to
hope that they would consent to remain neutral. He could only trust
that the Habshiabadis were in a better condition to pursue--but when he
and Gerrard met he learned that it was not so. On receiving
Charteris's message, Gerrard had come on with his artillery and an
escort, leaving the rest of his force to hold a detachment sent against
him by Chand Singh.

"Talk about the rules of military science, indeed! Think of your
trailing cow-guns unsupported through a hostile country!" cried
Charteris. "But it was a regular case of night or Bluecher, old boy,
and I knew what a brick you were."

"A brick! I feel like one," laughed Gerrard. He and Charteris looked
at one another and laughed again. They had both discarded their tunics
in favour of what they called blouses, loose holland garments like long
Norfolk jackets, and Gerrard had exchanged his cap for a hat o