"God for the right!" exclaimed Ralph, as their hands met. They then separated, for they had agreed each to command at one edge of the circle, and it was time to assume their places.
None too soon, either, for, directly that the dusk made all things obscure, the attack once more began.
It was probable that the dacoits themselves had run short of powder on the previous evening, and had utilised the day by going to their homes to fetch more, for again they commenced by blazing away at long range.
But Kirke made the people crouch low, and had, through the day, considerably strengthened his defences, so that the firing caused few casualties for a long time. The besieged could only have returned the attack by stone throwing, which would have been of little use as long as the enemy remained under cover, and at a distance, while it would have betrayed the exhaustion of their ammunition.
He therefore counselled a passive endurance of the firing, hoping by this means to lure the dacoits out of their cover into closer quarters; and this subterfuge took effect.
The dusky figures crept out from behind the trees, and advanced stealthily.
Kirke waited until they were within a couple of yards of the stockade, then sprang suddenly to his feet, and shouted—
"Now, my friends!"
A pelting shower of stones seconded his cry; the enemy's advance was checked, the line wavered, broke, and began to retreat, when a shot rang out from the jungle,—a fatal, too well-directed shot, aimed at Kirke's tall commanding figure, and he fell.
With a cry of dismay, Ralph sprang to the side of his friend, but the dacoits took fresh courage, and dashed at the defences in a body, like a dark wave pouring over a rocky shore.