Save for the bungling movements of Paul and myself, not a sound could be heard as we pressed forward, keenly on the alert for the enemy, and ready for an immediate attack.
It was as if a company of shadows flitted here and there amid the underbrush, so far as might be told from sound, and although the advance was noiseless, it was made swiftly.
Paul and I were left somewhat in the rear because of not being able to keep the pace silently, and during more than half of the hour which passed, I failed to see a single man ahead of us.
Then suddenly, although we knew full well it must soon come, the report of a rifle rang out on the still air; after this another and another, until there could be no question but that the foremost of the party had come upon those of whom we gave warning.
My timorousness was forgotten on the instant—cast out of mind by the knowledge that our lives must be defended, and Paul, whom I believe of a verity had never been timid, pressed forward so rapidly to take part in the struggle that I laid hold of him lest he should unnecessarily run into danger.
We advanced three hundred paces or more before coming to where our men were sheltered behind trees, trying to pick off the foe who were in similar positions, and I heard Major Clarke say in a sharp, low tone:
"Get to cover, lads! The reptiles are close upon us, and you are giving them fair targets."
I leaped behind a gum tree, giving no heed to Paul's movements, and had but just gained this shelter when a bullet cut the bark within an inch of my face.
The Indians were ready for battle, although I had often heard it said they would never stand up in a fair fight, and there came into my mind the fear that Paul and I might have seen only a portion of their force—that possibly we were confronting a large body led by British officers.