that he had been hit by two
balls. One had apparently penetrated his shoulder, the other had grazed
his temple. It was the latter which had brought him to the ground, but
the shoulder-wound seemed to be the more dangerous.

"Dead!" said Lancey solemnly, as he kneeled beside the body.

Eskiwin made no answer, his grave countenance expressed nothing but
stern decision. His friend's face was colourless, motionless, and
growing cold. He raised Bobo's hand and let it drop as he gazed
mournfully into his face.

Just then the sound of the pursuers was heard, as if searching the
neighbouring thicket.

Eskiwin rose slowly, and, with his bayonet, began to dig a grave. The
soil was soft. A hollow was soon scooped out, and the dead Turk was put
therein. But while the two men were engaged in burying it, the Russians
were heard still beating about in the thicket, and apparently drawing
near. Lancey felt uneasy. Still Eskiwin moved with slow deliberation.
When the grave was covered he kneeled and prayed.

"Come, come; you can do that on horseback" said Lancey, with impatience.

Eskiwin took no notice of the irreverent interruption, but calmly
finished his prayer, cast one sorrowful glance on the grave, and
remounted his charger.

Lancey was about to do the same, being retarded by the broken
stirrup-leather, when a tremendous shout caused his horse to swerve,
break its bridle, and dash away. At the same moment a band of Don
Cossacks came swooping down the gorge. Lancey flung himself flat
beneath a mass of underwood. The Cossacks saw only one horseman, and
went past the place with a wild yell. Another moment and Lancey was
left alone beside the grave.

To find his way out of the thicket was now the poor man's chief care,
but this was difficult, for, besides being ignorant of the road, he had
to contend with darkness, the moon having become obscured.

It is a well-known fact that when a lost man wanders he does so in a
circle. Twice, during that night, did Lancey start with a view to get
away from that spot, and twice did he find himself, after two hours'
wandering, at the side of Ali Bobo's grave. A third time he set out,
and at the end of that effort he not only came back to the same spot,
but chanced, inadvertently, to plant his foot over the stomach of the
luckless Turk.

This was too much, even for a dead man. Ali Bobo turned in his shallow
grave, scattered the sod, and, sitting up, looked round him with