ficers behind, in their ugly greenish-gray German uniforms,
drove them forward, and though the leading files fell by scores the rest
swept onwards. To his dismay, Ken saw more pouring out behind in support.
The odds were at least ten to one. It was impossible to withstand such an
attack in the open.

Colonel Conway knew it too. Next moment the whistles shrilled again,
giving the order to retire.

Slowly the men began to fall back. Their steadiness was wonderful. Raw
troops can be trusted to charge, but, as a rule, it takes veterans to
retire successfully. These Australians, hardly one of whom had ever been
under fire before the previous night, retreated in such magnificent order
as made their officers' hearts thrill with admiration.

Every bit of cover was made full use of, the men dropping and firing, then
rising again, and gliding back to the next stone or bush. They lost, of
course--lost heavily--but for each Australian who fell, four Turks went
down.

Ken, dodging and shooting with the best, still managed to keep an eye on
his two friends, and saw with relief that neither was hit. Slowly they
worked back until they were within fifty yards of their trench.

Here was open ground with practically no cover at all.

'Come on!' shouted Ken. 'A last sprint.'

He saw Dave spring to his feet and make a dash. Then suddenly he stumbled,
flung out his arms and fell flat on his face. At the same moment two
Turks, big, black-bearded fellows, came leaping out of a patch of scrub,
barely twenty yards behind Dave.

Ken spun round, and taking quick aim at the nearest, pulled the trigger.
There was no report. He had finished the last cartridge in his magazine.

There was no time to reload. Dave, hurt but not killed, was trying to
crawl away on hands and knees, but it was clear that in another moment he
would be a prisoner.

Without an instant's hesitation, Ken charged straight at the two Turks.

They, intent on their prisoner, failed to see him until he was almost on
them. Then one, uttering a hoarse cry, sprang forward, stabbing at him
with his bayonet.

Ken's blade clashed against the other's as he parried, then side-stepping
like a flash, he drove his bayonet into the man's ribs, and with a choking
sob he fell dead.

Something whizzed past Ken's head, and a heavy blow on the left shoulder
brought him to his knees. The second Turk had struck at him with his rifle
butt, and missing his head, caught him on the shoulder.