“Well, sir,” said Sergeant Lund, wiping his face, as, after getting about half-way back, the little party found themselves hedged up in a little gully by Malay spears, whose holders kept themselves hidden behind the trees,—“well, sir, this is hot, and no mistake.”
“Yes,” said Tom Long, excitedly; “but be careful, my lads, don’t waste a shot; you must be getting short.”
“They’ve only about six rounds each, sir, now,” said the sergeant; “but they’ve got the bayonets.”
“Yes,” said Tom, as he stood sword in one hand, revolver in the other; “but we mustn’t let them get at us with their spears. I can’t leave a man behind, sergeant.”
“Then we’d better stop as we are for a few minutes, and get breath, sir, and then see which is the best way to go.”
The sergeant hurried to a couple of the men who were exposing themselves a little too freely, and then returned to Tom Long, who was standing in the middle of two sides of a triangle composed of four men a side, and another forming the apex.
“I’d make a dash for it, sergeant,” said the ensign, “only I should be sure to lose some of the boys; while if we stop here we shall get speared. It’s a puzzle, isn’t it? I say, I don’t feel half so—so—”
“Scared, sir?”
“Well, yes; I didn’t like to say frightened, sergeant,” replied Tom, smiling, “because it sounds so queer.”
“Ah, sir, you might say anything now before the lads, they wouldn’t mind; and after the plucky way you led us on, they’d follow you anywhere. But hadn’t we better let the enemy have a few shot, sir? They’re closing in fast.”