The sands of Sungan were vacant except for the group of warriors under Gela. A slight breeze stirred among the aloes and tamarisks, lifting tiny spirals of dust under their feet and causing the torches to flicker.
Then the torches were dashed into the sand, and the warrior groups became shadowy forms, moving against the deeper shadow of the towers.
Overhead the moon was cold and bright. Its radiance showed the dark figures of Chinese on the wall, and glittered on their guns. At the gate in the wall in front of them was a group of priests. Wu Fang Chien was not to be seen.
Between the tumani and the wall was a level stretch of sand perhaps two hundred yards in length.
"See!" chattered the old Timur, "the message of Bassalor Danek has been sent. They are waiting."
"It would not be well to rush the wall," cautioned Gray quickly, sizing up the situation. "They have guns——"
"If I had a bow!" Timur's reluctance had vanished under the growing excitement. "Ho! The hunters will hunt new prey."
One of the priests cried out something that Gray did not understand. Gela answered defiantly, and the tumani rushed forward, carrying Gray and Mary with them.
A shot sounded from the wall, greeted by a defiant shout from the Wusun. A scattering volley followed. The guards—Chinese irregulars, Dungans, bandits, followers of the priests, what-not—were poor marksmen. But the range was close. And the Wusun, ignorant of tactics against gunfire, were bunched close.
Gray saw several stumble and fall in the sand. More shots. The torches wavered. Timur stooped and picked up a bow and arrow from one of the fallen.