“And so gain an entrance into the fort,” thought Adam Gray. “Well, my poor wretch, you will not do it, unless both my rifle ball and bayonet should miss.”
Just then the figure stopped, and lay quite motionless; and again Gray hesitated, feeling sure that he must have been deceived, as he gazed now at the figure where it lay, some twenty yards away.
There it was, perfectly motionless, and in that darkness Gray felt that he really could not be sure about it. After all, the figure might be lying where it had first lain. It was impossible to say.
His doubts were dispelled the next moment, for the figure was once more in motion, and stopped short as the lock of the sentry’s rifle clicked.
“Don’t shoot!” said a voice in English; “I am a friend.”
“If you move again, I fire!” said Gray in a low, stern voice. “Who are you?”
“Is that Private Gray?” said the voice.
“Mr Ali, is that you?” cried Gray, leaning towards him.
“Yes, it is I,” said the figure, crawling rapidly towards him.
“What are you doing with the enemy?”