The body of natives were quite close now. The Coolies were flying down the road to meet them; and Zeemit heard the foremost horseman ask if they had seen a Feringhee in disguise. Then the answer was given—“Yes, yes; he is here.”
She seized Gordon by the arm, and fairly dragged him towards the door.
“Come,” she said; “the roof is our only place of safety.”
They hurried out of the door and gained the small round tower, common to Indian bungalows, and which contained the winding flight of steps used by the Bheestee Wallas, or water-carriers. By these steps the roof was gained. The entrance from this tower on to the roof was by a very narrow doorway. The door was of stout teak. On the roof were some bamboo poles. He seized one of these, and used it as a lever to dislodge a portion of the brick parapet. The débris he piled up against the small door, thus forming a most effectual barricade. He had two breech-loading revolvers and ample ammunition, and he did not doubt he would be able to hold his own for a considerable time.
“Do you know how to load these pistols, Zeemit?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, with sadness in her tone, for she knew that they must be levelled at her own countrymen. But love for her English mistress was strong in her heart, and it overcame all scruples.
Gordon glanced over the parapet. The crowd, numbering eighteen or nineteen, and several of them armed with guns, were close now. He was determined not to be the first to fire.
“What do you seek?” he cried, as the natives swarmed into the verandah.
“Death to the Feringhee,” was the only answer; and with a wild cry they sought the tower and rushed up the stairs, but they were unable to force the door. Down they went again, yelling and howling like infuriated demons, and they fired a volley at the roof—the bullets sending the cement flying in all directions, but otherwise doing no harm. Gordon no longer hesitated in the course to pursue, but levelling his revolver, fired the six shots in rapid succession, and with such good aim that five men rolled over. It was an unexpected reception, and the survivors were furious—some firing wildly at the roof, and others rushing off in search of combustibles wherewith to burn down the house. Gordon had little chance of picking any of them off now, for, taking warning by the fate of their comrades, they sheltered under the portico and behind trees.
It was almost too dark to see; night was closing in fast. Gordon recognised that his position was critical in the extreme, and, unless he could escape, death was certain. He peered over the parapet on all sides. At the back were the stables, and the roof was about ten feet from the parapet. It was the only chance. A yell of delight at this moment greeted him, and he could discern some of the natives rushing towards the house with a long ladder, which they had discovered in the compound.