“None,” echoed Vunisa, emphatically.
“Well, and what do you all say?” asked Sketchley, having translated this.
“I’ve got people at home,” said one of the troopers, meaningly.
“So have I,” declared another.
“Let’s put it to the vote then,” went on Sketchley. “It’s on the cards they’ll keep their word, and then we’ve had all this bother for nothing. Otherwise, candidly, I don’t believe we’ve the ghost of a chance. Now then?”
The two who had first spoken were for surrendering the chiefs. Sketchley and the other trooper were against it.
“Now then, Selmes,” said the latter. “You’ve got the casting vote.”
Dick was inclined to hold out, but what right had he to sacrifice these men’s lives? Besides, had not he also “got people at home”? He wavered. Then something occurred which decided him, decided them all. For just then the mist parted all round. A strong body of Police, attracted by the firing, was swarming up the hill.
The answer of the besieged was another volley, this time with effect. All four shots told—one man had been left in charge of the captive chiefs, with revolver ready to shoot both dead in the event of their countrymen gaining a foothold on the ridge. Then another volley with like effect. These young Englishmen, you see, were now in the most dangerous position of all to their enemies—that of “cornered”—and they shot deadly, and cool. The original assailants, who, heartened by their reinforcements, had sprung up to renew the attack, now began to drop behind cover again.
“Give ’em another!” yelled Dick.