s."

Accordingly five men, each carrying four jars, set off to the well.
The dangers that Wilmshurst had encountered were now over, and in a
short space of time the five returned. Although they had been in full
view of the enemy positions throughout, their progress had not been
molested by so much as a single shot.

"The blighters are saving it up for us for to-night," declared a
trooper. "Wonder if a couple of us could steal through their lines and
make our way to the main column? A few squadrons would make Fritz sit
up."

"No use unless we were mounted," objected another; "and a fellow
couldn't hope to dash through their lines at full gallop. He'd be
chock full of bullets before he got within fifty yards of them."

"I'd risk it, anyway," asserted the first speaker. "Either mounted or
dismounted I reckon I'd do it as soon as it gets dark. But I'm hanged
if I can understand why Fritz is so horribly quiet and well-behaved."

"That's what we'd all like to know," added the sergeant. "I'm that
curious that I fancy taking a stroll that way myself."

Shortly afterwards a party of villagers were collected and set to work
to bury the bodies of those who had fallen in the futile assault. The
natives, contrary to expectation, performed their tasks without let or
hindrance from the enemy, although the men engaged in the work offered
a tempting target.

With the fall of darkness the mental attention of the garrison became
acute. At every slight or unaccountable sound the men strained eyes
and ears and grasped their rifles to meet an imaginary rush. Just
before midnight a shot rang out, the flash of the rifle being clearly
discernible at a point immediately fronting the scene of the most
formidable attack on the previous night.

"They're coming, boys!" exclaimed the patrol-commander. "Ten rounds
rapid when I give the word, then independent firing. Don't waste a
single shot."

Only the click of the rifle-bolts and the quick breathing of the men
broke the stillness. Even the natives, awed by the impending assault,
were silent as they handled their bows and long-hafted spears.

"Hear anything?" whispered the patrol-commander, edging close to
Wilmshurst.

"Nothing," replied the subaltern.

"They're coming, sir," exclaimed a deep voice.

The subaltern raised his binoculars and swept the intervening space.
The powerful night-glasses revealed no sign of the approaching enemy.

Again a flash, followed by the s