Stooping so as to be as little visible as possible, Royce doubled back. It was clear that to march southward with a mounted enemy on their heels would be to court destruction. To take refuge in the bush or the woodland would merely postpone the disaster for a short time. What could be done?
An idea flashed into his mind. Was there time to reach the fort in which John and he had spent that unforgettable night? All depended on the number of the horsemen he had just seen. If they were the men who had forded the river, unreinforced, there was a bare chance.
By the time he regained the camp Royce had made up his mind.
"John, tell these men to carry the food and baggage into the forest yonder," he said. "You must lead them. We will make for the fort. Give Mr. Challis your rifle."
It was some minutes before the released prisoners, laden with their bundles, had got under way. Meanwhile, Royce drew up the Hausas in line, and, facing towards the oncoming horsemen, moved backward slowly towards the forest.
The carriers had not yet gained the shelter of the trees when the Tubus, some thirty in number, broke from cover and charged down upon the little party. Royce was at one end of the line, Challis at the other.
"Don't fire until I give the word," said Royce.
The horsemen rode on with shrill yells, firing as they came. But their aim was wild, and no one was hit. Slowly withdrawing, Royce kept his eye fixed on them, whispering:
"Steady! Steady! Wait for the word."
The Hausas were panting with excitement, but not a man of them lifted his rifle. At last, when the horsemen were little more than two hundred yards away, Royce dropped on his knee.