and in the
ruddy, flickering light his task was greatly complicated.

Again the weapon was hoisted on the Haussa's broad shoulders. This
time the mechanism acted without a hitch. The Askaris broke and fled,
leaving a third of their number on the ground, while those who had
gained a footing within the kraal lost heart and threw down their arms.

Nevertheless the danger was by no means over. At two other points the
kraal had been entered, the defenders being forced back until
two-thirds of the village was in the hands of the foe. The
fiercely-burning huts now formed an effectual defence, the survivors of
the garrison having concentrated in a space in the form of a segment of
a circle, a portion of the palisade comprising the arc and the line of
flaming huts the chord. For the present the barrage of fire was
impassable, but what would happen when the conflagration burnt itself
out remained a matter for anxious speculation.

Rhodesians and blacks worked together to dig a trench and construct a
parapet. It was a strenuous task, for in order to give as much space
as possible to the already congested defenders the new defence work had
been pushed as far forward as the strength of the flames permitted.
The while desultory long-distance firing was indulged in by the
discomfited foe, the bullets pinging against the hard ground or flying
with a sharp "siss" overhead.

While this work was in progress the corporal hurried up and addressed
Wilmshurst.

"Your nigger sergeant's hit, sir," he reported.

The subaltern made his way to the spot where the machine-gun had been
placed out of the line of hostile fire, since a single bullet might put
it out of action. Lying upon the ground with his head propped against
the ammunition box was Bela Moshi.

The Haussa was barely conscious. He recognised his young officer and
gave a determined but ineffective attempt to smile. Already one of the
men had cut away Bela Moshi's tunic, revealing a bullet wound on the
right side of the chest. Even as Dudley placed his water-bottle to the
sergeant's lips the Haussa's eyes closed and he lost consciousness.

"What do you make of it?" asked Dudley, addressing the man attending to
the patient.

"He's as like to snuff it, sir," he replied. "Can't tell exactly--and
it's a tough job to tackle with only a field-service dressing."

"When was he hit?" continued the subaltern.

"That's a mystery, sir," was the answer. "We'd brought the gun