Simultaneously there rose from the grass a mass of dark forms, but no sound was uttered. They would be in upon the laager and surprise it asleep, having first made mincemeat of the unfortunate sentry. But—would they? Acting upon Ben Halse’s instructions, Denham, half concealed by a broad, flat-topped thorn-bush, poured his magazine fire into the thick of them, cartridge after cartridge, and aiming low. He could hear Ben Halse doing the same, and knew he was missing nothing and nobody. He himself knew he was missing nobody. It was just as Ben Halse had predicted. The attacking line was thoroughly demoralised, and reckoning, as it might well have reckoned, that there were about twenty more men here than was really the case, dropped flat to the earth, a manoeuvre of which the two daring watchers took advantage to sprint away to the laager, keeping as much under cover of the bushes as possible.
“Steady, boys; it’s only ourselves,” sung out Ben Halse, as several rifles went up ominously to greet them. “Good Lord! I don’t know where you’d all be if it wasn’t for our same selves. Now, then, let’s get into position. We’ll want it directly.”
They did. Broad shields showed through the misty dawn, their bearers advancing at a sort of creeping run behind them, then the gleam of assegais. A few shots were fired, but hummed high overhead, doing no harm. But the men within, now thoroughly aroused, were all the cool and daring pioneers of civilisation such men almost invariably are. Each instinctively sought out the most useful post, and their rifles crashed into the advancing rush, pouring in shot after shot from the magazines.
“Here, you mustn’t be here. Go back into the house. You’ll be hit.”
The tone was gruff, and the speaker Harry Stride. Verna answered—
“No, I shan’t. I can shoot, and I’m going to.”
And she did. Afterwards she did not care to reckon up with what effect.
The loss to the assailants was great, terrific. They were at close quarters, and the defenders were firing low. And then they began to get entangled and tripped up on the barbed wires.
“Usutu!”
The war-cry rang out, fierce-throated, on the right. A derisive yell was the reply.