"We have the walls, at any rate. The most necessary thing is to strengthen those as well as we can."
"I must attend to your arm first," said Challis. "You can't any longer say that you haven't a scratch."
"It's not much more," said Royce, looking at his sleeve as Challis gently drew his coat off.
"More than you think. It's a nasty gash. Thank goodness we've got our medical stores safe."
He dressed the wound, and bound it up with lint; gave the same attention to Gambaru; then, placing a man on guard at each end of the fort, they sat down to discuss their position more fully.
It seemed likely that by diligent work they could strengthen their defences considerably. But for the difficulty as to water, provisions, and ammunition, they might hope to tire the enemy out, if he remained persistent. The difficulty was a very grave one. The water in the pail gave them only about a cupful each, and a second attempt to fetch more from the stream might be disastrous. Their provisions, on half rations, might last a fortnight; and, with the enemy so near, there was little chance of replenishing the larder. The ammunition amounted to about three hundred rounds per rifle—scarcely more than enough for one day's hard fighting.
"I wonder whether they will stick to it," said Challis. "What can their object be?"
"Hardly booty," replied Royce. "They know very well what our possessions are—certainly not worth heavy losses in acquiring them. It must be a question of prestige; they're afraid all their victims will rise against them if they fail here. What do you say, John? Why don't these Tubus let us alone?"
John scratched his close-clipped woolly poll and looked worried. Then he suddenly brightened.
"Dey bad plenty wicked fellas, all same," he said, with the air of one who has solved a knotty problem.