The foremost of the dark mass, almost indistinguishable in the gloom of the evening, were so near that they could have touched him; but they did not. Muttering curses of baffled rage, they fell back confusedly, and their comrades received them with yells of derision. 'Seize him yourselves!' they said sullenly. 'The gods fight for him. He has a charmed life.'

The little band, meanwhile, with the General in the midst of them, were nearing the outskirts of the wood. They had increased the distance between them and their assailants, who, in the gathering gloom, could scarcely catch more than the outline of their figures. 'Fools!' cried one of them—the man who had killed the General's horse—'you are letting him escape.' He was known as the most deadly shot in the regiment, and he had eyes like a cat's. Over and over again the General had boasted of his powers.

This man took aim deliberately, the scarlet coat serving him as a guide. Almost by a miracle the General escaped; but the nearest of his escort fell. 'That was Koolraj Sing, I know,' rang out the voice of the indomitable old man. 'Well aimed! Another like that, my man, and—Ha! You villain—would you? Others can see in the dark as well as you. Have at him, Kullum Khan! Steadily, my friend! Aim low! There is the moon, thank heaven! Now! Halt and fire!'

Ping! Ping! Sharply and clearly the detonations rang out. The smoke cleared away. The General still stood his ground, but Koolraj Sing, the dead shot of the regiment, the man whose eyes could pierce through a stone wall, was writhing in the agonies of death.

'Well done, Kullum Khan! said the General. 'You shall have a medal for this! Keep together, my little ones! We shall be out of this soon.'

'They are coming up behind,' said Kullum Khan. 'Listen, Excellency!'

For a moment the General halted. Kullum Khan had spoken truly. Close in their rear they could hear sounds, the crackling of the dry branches of the underwood, and the heavy breathing of men and animals. 'Who's there?' cried the General in English. He was answered with an English cheer. 'Courage, my men!' he cried joyfully to the little band of the faithful, 'and keep close to me, lest they mistake you for the rebels. Hurry up, my hearties!' to his own men, who, having missed him and feeling certain that treachery was on foot, were searching the wood. 'These,' pointing to his escort, as one and another of his troopers rode up, 'are comrades. I owe my life to them. They have stood by me gallantly. Your horse, Tommy,' to his own servant, who was first to come up. 'Never fear, you shall have your hand in the fun. Now then, are we all ready? You see those black-hearted scoundrels out yonder. Three times our number, boys, but cowards every mother's son of them. Charge for old England's sake, and mow them down!'

A ringing cheer, clear and joyful, which echoed and re-echoed through the wood, that seemed peopled by hundreds instead of tens, greeted these gallant words. The mutineers answered it with a scream of defiance. Then, crash, crash, thundering over the dry underwood, came the tramp of the English horsemen. The Pandies, who were on foot, stood their ground, firing wildly. Several horses fell, and their riders joined the faithful Indians, who were coming up behind them at a quick march.

'Force them into the open,' cried the General. 'See—where the light shines in!'

At his word the little band of horsemen swung round to the left. The mutineers, expecting a front attack, were taken by surprise, and, instead of facing round, as the only surviving officer commanded them, they broke into confused groups, some of which stood their ground, while by far the greater number took to their heels. Uttering a cry of despair and hatred, the officer drew his tulwar across his throat and fell at the very feet of the General's horse, which started and plunged aside. At the same moment a mutineer, who had been lying in ambush close by, sprang forward and discharged his musket at the General. The gallant old man's bridle arm fell helpless by his side; but he gathered up his reins in his right hand and pressed on. As for the men, English and Indians, they had eyes and ears for nothing but the foe. Stumbling and plunging, now in close order, and now separately, they rode and ran over the broken ground. Meanwhile, with the fatality that comes of abject dread, the mutineers were rushing towards the open.