Compton gripped his friend's hand, then went on, very cautiously this time, for a little way, until he heard the crack of the Express, followed by the Hunter's bull voice calling on the men to "stand fast." He dashed on.
"We are coming," yelled Venning, in a voice that sounded very youthful; but keen ears heard the high treble, and to them it brought comfort.
"The chiefs white men," was the cry that rose, that reached Mr. Hume as he fought coolly, warily, in a crisis of the battle, knowing that, if he gave back an inch, the men behind him would bolt, and Hassan's horde would swarm into the valley.
"Hurrah, my brave lads!" he roared. "You there behind, meet the white men and lead them up to the place where I first stood."
"Yebo Inkose! (yes, chief)" cried a Zulu of the Angoni.
Thus the chief's "white men" were met in the gorge by a dark figure panting heavily, who led them through other dark forms, some lying groaning, others silent—led them up to a ledge that overlooked the enemy.
"What now?" asked Compton, looking at the Zulu, and in the better light noticing the wounds on his head and left arm.
The Zulu pointed down. "Fire, O white men, between that tree and the rock. There they are thickest."
The two rifles flashed out simultaneously.
"Hurrah!" roared the Hunter from below. "Give them the whole magazine."