In sheer muscular strength he was no match for the Kalmuck dwarf. Under the crushing pressure of Black Jack's fierce grip his hold on the knife was relaxing: the weapon was slipping from him. His hold upon the man's throat weakened; the Kalmuck was digging his nails into his left arm. As the under dog he was not able to cope with the man pressing him down. The knife dropped to the ground; his wrist was suddenly released; he felt a bony hand at his own throat, and had given himself up for lost, when a wild discordant clamour broke out close by, drowning all other sounds. For an instant Black Jack was perfectly still: then, wrenching himself away, he sprang to his feet and leapt into the darkness.
Lawrence got up more slowly, every muscle and nerve quivering. He had just seen that the space around was empty of living men, when a film seemed to fall upon his eyes. He tottered, and sank fainting upon the ground.
When he reopened his eyes, the flush of morning lay upon the valley. He raised his head.
"That's right," said Major Endicott, stepping from behind him. "How do you feel?"
"Rather groggy, Major," replied Lawrence. "Those fellows struck me, I think."
"A gash or two: nothing to speak of. What bowled you over was hunger and fatigue, I suspect. We've got a few scraps left, which will keep you going until we reach your mine."
"Is Fazl all right?"
"As jolly as a sandboy, though rather dilapidated. It's lucky I carry a case of sticking plaster with me; he's pretty considerably patched--much more than you are. You slept pretty soundly through my amateur surgery."
"And the Kalmucks?"
"Gone elsewhere--all that were left of them. That machine of yours played you false then?"