"I've got the papers!" was what he said. He took careful, open aim
with the revolver, and before Zaidos could move or spring, he fired
straight at Zaidos' face!

Then he stood looking at the fallen boy. Zaidos lay on his back, arms
spread wide, knees partly bent under him. Somehow he looked very
young. Velo, once more conscious of the roar of guns, looked about
him. The battle raged madly. As if drawn by a magnet, his gaze
traveled back to the face of his victim. Sure enough, he had killed
him. Zaidos was out of his way forever. He felt in his blouse where
the precious papers were, then, moved by some strange impulse, he took
them out, and held them up before the unseeing eyes of his cousin.

"All here; all here!" he said thickly. "Now _I'm_ Zaidos; _I'm_ head
of the house!" Still holding the papers in his hand, he threw the
revolver far from him. It had done its work. He nodded to Zaidos.
"All here!" he repeated, fingering the pocket. "_I'm_--"

Something or someone seemed to strike him a violent blow in the back.
It surprised him. He turned to see the offender. There was no one
near. The tide of battle had swept past. He looked inquiringly at
Zaidos, and idly dropped the papers on the ground, as he put a hand to
his breast. Suddenly he lost interest in everything but the cause of
the blow. He wondered what in the world had hit him. Not a bullet.
Surely a bullet did not make you feel so numb and queer! He balanced
back and forth as though he was walking a tight rope. Still staring at
Zaidos, and still pressing a hand to his chest, he went slowly, very
slowly, to his knees.

"That's strange," he said to Zaidos. Then without warning, he coughed.
It tore, and ripped, and rent him with mortal agony. He screamed
aloud. He clutched with both hands at his breast, screamed, and
screamed and screamed, and so went slowly down and down, a million
miles into blackness, and lay without further motion, his head against
Zaidos' knee.

CHAPTER XI

DAYS OF WAITING

Inch by inch, step by step, yard after yard, the enemy forced the
English back. They reached the second line of wire entanglements,
where for awhile the battle raged, while Zaidos and Velo, like other
thousands of silent and bloody figures, lay in strange, distorted
groups.

At the second entanglement, however, something seemed to happen.
Perhaps the enemy's charge had exhausted them, perhaps because a
bulldog courage always fill