"We're through!" exclaimed Colin aloud, though speaking to himself; but the next instant Brimstone faltered, staggered a few yards, and then collapsed, throwing his rider at full length upon the sun-baked ground.
CHAPTER XIX
HOTLY PURSUED
Hardly knowing how he did it, Colin regained his feet. His rifle lay close at hand. He picked it up and, with his face to the foe, prepared to resist to the last.
It seemed incredible to him that during the brief interval between the dash through the line of warriors and the collapse of his horse that Sinclair had covered nearly a quarter of a mile. He had lost all sense of time and distance until he found himself standing alone, with Brimstone kicking and struggling on the ground, with three assegais deeply embedded in the animal's flank.
Sibenga's warriors were approaching rapidly, yelling shouts of triumph. The nearmost was now barely a hundred and fifty yards away, while right and left the natives were converging upon the dismounted lad.
Raising his rifle, Colin fired thrice in quick succession. In his excitement he aimed wildly, and the bullets failed to find a billet other than the earth.
Again he ejected an empty cartridge and thrust home the bolt. Taking steadier aim, he pressed the trigger. A faint click was the only response. He had fired the last cartridge in the magazine and the rest of the ammunition was in a leather pouch fastened to Brimstone's saddle.
Resisting the temptation to turn and run—the swift-footed natives would have overtaken him in a very few minutes—Colin stood with his face to his foes and his feet planted firmly and his clubbed rifle held ready to make a desperate fight for life.