For the next few minutes the two men fought side by side, their bayonets keeping the Malays back every time they strove to enter the place, and driving them off successfully till help came, and two or three volleys did the rest.
“How was this? How did it happen that you did not see the enemy approaching sooner, Private Sim?” said Captain Smithers, sternly.
Sim trembled for his life, knowing as he did that over matters of discipline the captain was a stern man, and that he must expect no mercy for his fault if Gray spoke out, and told all he knew; so he exclaimed hastily, and with a malicious look at Gray,—
“How could I, sir, when there are traitors in the camp?”
“Traitors! What do you mean?”
“I mean a traitor, sir! Private Gray there came up behind me, leaped upon me, and held his hand over my mouth to keep me still, while he whistled to the Malays to come in by the opening, there.”
“You lying—”
“Silence, Private Gray!” cried Captain Smithers, and all that was evil in his nature came to the surface, as he felt that here was an opportunity for disgracing, if not putting his rival to death; and a strange feeling of savage joy animated him for the moment. “Silence, Private Gray!” he cried. “Speak out, Private Sim. Do you mean to assert that this man served you as you say?”
“Look at me, sir!” cried Sim, showing his disordered uniform. “That was done in the struggle; and I did not fire as soon as I could have wished.”
“Show me your rifle, Sim,” said the captain.