But as the horsemen opened out they shouted wildly, and a revulsion of feeling swept through Dick as he grasped the fact that they were friends, who reined up ready to help them.
The gunners sprang to their places again, and once more the guns spoke out to their front and to their left flank, where the fresh horse and foot were coming.
“Is there another bridge?” cried Hulton in Hindustani to the leader of their reinforcement.
“Yes; but we could not reach it now,” was the reply.
“Then we must charge right across the field.”
“No, no,” cried the leader; “there is the ford.”
“Hah! could we take the guns across?”
“Yes. Follow us.”
“Wait!” shouted Hulton, and six more discharges were sent at the hesitating enemy, the smoke rising densely and again covering their retreat. For, before the enemy could realise what had happened, the battery was limbered up and in full retreat towards the river, the leader of the little body of horsemen taking them diagonally down to the stream, his men dashing in at a gallop, for the fresh body coming from the open bridge now grasped what was about to be done, and came on with a rush to capture the guns.
There was no hesitation on the part of the troop. As the horsemen dashed in, sending the water flying, in rushed the men with the leading gun, the water rising above the axles of the wheels and foaming round them, as, of necessity slowing down, the horses tore through the river, a good hundred yards wide, the drivers making every effort to get their teams through in safety.