it was received with a snarling curse, and answered by a withering stream of fire which made them throw themselves flat for safety on the rock.
Once, the party in the pass attempted a sudden rush, thinking to catch him unawares, and gain the shelter of the fallen sandstone slabs, just inside the mouth of the pass. This done, they could have held it against any force from the desert till their main body, five hours' march away, came up.
At the first echoing sound of the iron-heeled khundaras, which carried far through the somnolent air, Twing depressed the gun, traversing to the left. As the askaris dashed into the open, the gun spat fire, the bullets ricochetting from the rocky bottom; the bent and twisted steel inflicting wounds more terrible than direct hits. Followed by the cries, the groans, the calls on Allah from their stricken fellows, they crowded back into the shelter of the rock.
Carson was delirious, the burning fever of the gunshot wound increased by the terrific heat. There was nothing Twing could do to ease him. Their water was gone, spilled from bullet-struck bottles in the night. That in the casing of the gun was all but boiling, inpregnated with oil. His ears tortured by the ceaseless moaning, which was occasionally broken by wild cries as his mate strove frantically to rise and dash away in search
