ng their rifles
upon the boulders in front of them.

The Arabs had halted about five hundred yards away, and it was evident
from their leisurely movements that they were perfectly aware that there
was no possible escape for the travellers. They had paused to ascertain
their number before closing in upon them. Most of them were firing from
the backs of their camels, but a few had dismounted and were kneeling
here and there,--little shimmering white spots against the golden
background. Their shots came sometimes singly in quick, sharp throbs,
and sometimes in a rolling volley, with a sound like a boy's stick drawn
across iron railings. The hill buzzed like a bee-hive, and the bullets
made a sharp, crackling sound as they struck against the rocks.

[Illustration: You do no good by exposing yourself p86]

"You do no good by exposing yourself," said Belmont, drawing Colonel
Cochrane behind a large jagged boulder, which already furnished a
shelter for three of the Soudanese.

"A bullet is the best we have to hope for," said Cochrane, grimly. "What
an infernal fool I have been, Belmont, not to protest more energetically
against this ridiculous expedition! I deserve whatever I get, but it
_is_ hard on these poor souls who never knew the danger."

"I suppose there's no help for us?"

"Not the faintest."

"Don't you think this firing might bring the troops up from Haifa?"

"They'll never hear it. It is a good six miles from here to the steamer.
From that to Haifa would be another five."

"Well, when we don't return, the steamer will give the alarm."

"And where shall we be by that time?"

"My poor Norah! My poor little Norah!" muttered Belmont, in the depths
of his grizzled moustache.

"What do you suppose that they will do with us, Cochrane," he asked
after a pause.

"They may cut our throats, or they may take us as slaves to Khartoum.
I don't know that there is much to choose. There's one of us out of his
troubles, anyhow."

The soldier next them had sat down abruptly, and leaned forward over
his knees. His movement and attitude were so natural that it was hard to
realise that he had been shot through the head. He neither stirred nor
groaned. His comrades bent over him for a moment, and then, shrugging
their shoulders, they turned their dark faces to the Arabs once more.
Belmont picked up the dead man's Martini and his ammunition-pouch.

"Only three more rounds, Cochrane," said he, with the little brass
cylin