“I believe you,” assented Darrin. “And you won’t be very much of any sort of man, unless you make up your mind to do instantly what I wish of you. Come!”
Nodding to a sailor to escort the under secretary, Dave and two of his men brought up the rear and rushed out into the open.
Left alone without command, the governor’s score of soldiers, lined up against the walls, after a bewildered pause shuffled off in the wake of their departed chief.
Cr-r-rack! On the rampart at the west of the compound a squad of sailors had opened fire on a party of Chinese who were firing from the shelter of the nearest houses. Dan ran over to them, and stood behind his marksmen before Darrin succeeded in reaching the top of the steps nearest to the firing party.
At the outer edge of the rampart was a low wall of stone some two feet in thickness. On the flat floor behind this the sailors had thrown themselves, aiming their rifles over the parapet. Behind them Danny Grin, sword in hand, took position, pointing out some of the places of concealment of yellow snipers.
“They’ve opened fire, sir,” reported Dalzell, saluting as his chum came up.
“So I see,” nodded Ensign Dave. “Men, don’t shoot too hastily. Try to plant every bullet where it will be most effective.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” came the hearty chorus. Cr-r-r-rack!
Half a dozen of the missionaries who had joined the sailors on this part of the rampart, were proving their manhood by doing careful, deliberate work with their rifles. While under other circumstances these men of the cloth would have preferred not to take a hand in such an affair as this, the danger that threatened a score of American women completely changed their viewpoint.
“These mission men and the other American residents are going to make as good fighting material as you can get out of untrained men,” Dave remarked to Dan, in a low voice.