Gedge did not hear him, for, as they rushed down
over the icy snow, he had his work cut out to check his awkward car, as it nearly mastered him, his heels gliding over the smooth surface and refusing to cut in. Forcing them down, though, the speed began to slacken, till they neared the ascending group of savage faces of those who had borne off to intercept them; and as the car was brought to a stand a couple of shots were fired, and the missiles sent whistled by their heads.
“Can yer roll off, sir, and lie on yer face?” cried Gedge as he snatched his rifle, threw himself down behind the stone, and opened his cartridge-pouch.
“Yes. Look to yourself. Fire sharply, or they’ll be upon us.”
“Or our bay’nets,” said Gedge through his teeth.
The next moment he fired as he rested upon his elbows, and a shot from Bracy rang out, with the result that two of the group below them dropped, and a yell came from the remainder as they made a rush to reach them. But their running powers were exhausted, and at the end of twenty yards they resumed their heavy climb, with their feet breaking through the crust of frozen snow.
Crack, crack! from the English rifles, and one more dropped in his track, while another sprang wildly in advance for a few yards, before pitching forward upon his face and lying still.
“Fire steadily,” said Bracy hoarsely, “and we may cheek them.”
“Right, sir. Quick, too, for the beggars on the left are closing in to help.”