Sandy’s bullet also found a mark, for another of the shaggy ponies fell as if struck by a pole-axe, and the rider shot out over its head and remained stunned and senseless upon the ground.
A grunt of disgust from Tony showed that his shot had missed.
“Well, I’m bothered! Missed!” he cried. “But here goes for another.”
Reloading as rapidly as possible, they fired again, with the result that one of the horsemen was hit in the chest, and, doubling up, with arms hanging limply on either side of his pony’s neck, was carried past the little fort like a whirlwind.
“Load up, boys!” cried Phil excitedly. “They’ll be here in a minute; we must stop them, or those lances will be into us.”
But to fire at a rapidly-moving object, even when coming directly at one, is no easy matter, particularly when a long, cruel-looking shaft, armed with a glittering spear-point, is held directed at one’s chest. It takes nerve and coolness to make a careful shot, and it takes real courage to ride on towards that shot, knowing that it must reach its mark sooner than the lance can find its home in the enemy’s breast. All honour therefore to the two gallant Cossacks who still were left. Without a pull at their reins, and without so much as a shadow of hesitation, they charged the harrier. All three rifles spoke out, and next moment with a crash one of the lances met the piled-up boxes, and, unable to throw them on one side owing to their weight, or pierce the thick woodwork, shivered into a thousand splinters, while the brave Russian who held it glared savagely at Phil, and making an ineffectual effort to draw a pistol, groaned and fell lifeless from his saddle with an ugly wound gaping in his neck.
The other Cossack was more successful. Dropping the point of his lance, he charged full at Sam, and escaping his bullet by a miracle, pinned him to the ground by a thrust through the shoulder.
“Bayonets! Come along, Tony!” shouted Phil, and without waiting to see if he were followed, he dashed over the wall, and flung himself upon the Russian, with his drawn bayonet in his hand. It was a narrow shave for him, for a pistol exploded almost in his face, and carried his bearskin away. Next second he had thrust his weapon through his opponent’s body, and dragged him from his pony.
“Give a hand here, corporal,” sang out Sam at this moment. “This beast of a spear holds me so tight I can’t move. I feel just like a butterfly pinned to a board.”
“Half a minute, Sam. Now, hold on,” cried Tony, grasping the spear. Then, with, a sudden tug he wrenched it from the ground.