One after another the shots rang out from the mountain side, while Steve and his friends replied as rapidly as they could. While they did so, Jack and the others raced from the hollow and, using hands and feet, clambered up the steep slope. Not a sound came from their ranks, for all their breath was required for the task before them. They never paused to look above them, nor noticed when the defenders of the position stood out from their lair and discharged their rifles at them. They clambered steadily and quickly upward, leaving the three friends below to look to their defence, and to pour in such a fire that the rascals would not dare to expose themselves.
"There they are! Close in on them!"
In his eagerness to come upon the ruffianly Tusker Joe, and capture him, Jack forged ahead of the others. He was younger than they and more agile, and, without being aware of the fact, had rapidly outstripped them. And now he suddenly came upon the lurking place of the enemy. Clambering round a boulder of unusual proportions, he came to a level spot, a narrow pathway which ran on either hand till it was lost on the face of the steep slope. Here, some six yards to his left, four men were crouching, one of them being in the act of firing down at the hollow as he looked.
"Rush them! Down with them!" Jack shouted. "But don't shoot Tusker."
Careless of the consequences, blinded to his own danger by the excitement of the moment, and urged to strenuous exertion by the ever-present thought that here, almost in his own hands, was the evidence for which he sought, Jack raced along the ledge, dashed into the centre of the group of men, and became engaged at once in a desperate struggle. A man seemed to rise up before him, and in a moment they were locked together in an embrace which nothing but the death or disablement of one or other would terminate. They stood on the very edge of the ledge, the steep slope running away precipitously below them, and swayed to and fro, swayed so far over the edge that it looked as if they must lose their footing and fall.
As they staggered this way and that, others of the gang of desperadoes clubbed their rifles and made every effort to bring the butts crashing on to Jack's head. But always some frantic twist or turn of the combatants, some violent change of position on his part, upset their aim and caused them to fail in their object.
Meanwhile Steve and his two friends below had ceased firing, and stood watching the contest with staring eyes. For the little scout the moments dragged heavily. The struggle he witnessed up there on the mountain side was more than momentous. It stirred him to the deepest depths, for he had more than a friendly feeling for our hero.
"Back him up!" he bellowed, placing his hands to his mouth. "Can't yer see we can't help him. Git to and rush them, or they'll kill him. Gosh! Ef only I war there. I'd——"
He came to a sudden stop and stood rooted to the spot, his heart in his mouth, a sudden and unusual feeling of depression about him. For help had not yet reached our hero. The brilliant rays of the moon showed the other members of the band of pursuers almost within reach of the ledge, but not quite there. It showed also the figures of five men struggling furiously on the mountain side, and one of those from his height and build was undoubtedly our hero. The mob of men seemed to be thrusting him from the ledge, and as Steve stared he saw Jack striking out valiantly with his fists, for the man who had gripped him had suddenly let go his hold. Then there was a shout, and one of the rascals attacking him leaped forward and wound his arms round Jack's body. Steve shut his eyes and shuddered.
"Gone," he thought. "They'll throw him down."