heir camels, but a few had dismounted and were kneeling
here and there--little shimmering white spots against the golden
back-ground. 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 as they struck against the rocks.

"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 Halfa?"

"They'll never hear it. It is a good six miles from here to the
steamer. From that to Halfa 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
cylinders upon the palm of his hand. "We've let them shoot too soon,
and too often. We should have waited for the rush."

"You're a famous shot, Belmont," cried the Colonel. "I've heard of you
as one of the cracks. Don't you think you could pick off their leader?"

"Which is he?"

"As far as I can make out, it is that one on the white camel on their
right front. I mean the fellow who is peering at us from un