But the weight of the vessels and the awkwardness of carrying them caused them to make slow progress up the hill. Shots began to fly around them. There were answering volleys from the wall of the fort, but Royce knew by the sound that some of the men who had fired before had been recalled to defend the south side.
With the Hausas he staggered on, panting for breath. It seemed a miracle that he had not yet been hit. If the Tubus had dismounted and taken aim, not one of the three would have been left alive. But, true to their fighting method, they fired recklessly as they rode, no doubt hoping to ride the fugitives down.
At his right hand Royce heard a crash. A bullet had struck one of the earthen vessels carried by John. It was shattered. The loss of weight released the pot at the other end of the cord, and this, too, fell to the ground and was shivered to fragments.
Next moment Gambaru, who was a few paces ahead of Royce, staggered and fell. A yell of triumph rang out behind, and the Tubus rode through the stream and dashed up the hill in pursuit undaunted by the shots of the diminished band at the wall.
Gambaru did not rise. John, after his vessels had been broken, had run on, and was now almost at the wall. Royce did not hesitate. Water was precious, but more precious was the life of a man. Setting down the pail and the tins, he ran to Gambaru, stooped over him, and, discovering that he was wounded in one of his legs, helped him to rise, and assisted him to limp up the hill.
During these few moments the enemy, though the pace of their horses was checked by the incline, had rapidly diminished the gap between them and their expected victims. They had ceased to fire. It was only a question of seconds and the white man would be a prisoner in their hands.
But Royce was warned by their exultant shouts Glancing for a moment behind, he saw a dozen ferocious negroes within twenty yards of him.
"Crawl up!" he said to Gambaru.
Then, drawing his revolver, he turned to face the enemy.