men measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these things,
counting mechanically and hewing their way back to chosen pebble and
branch. There was no semblance of any concerted fighting. For aught the
men knew, the enemy might be attempting all four sides of the square at
once. Their business was to destroy what lay in front of them, to bayonet
in the back those who passed over them, and, dying, to drag down the
slayer till he could be knocked on the head by some avenging gun-butt.

Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew
unendurable. It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack was
repulsed, so the three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest side
of the square. There was a rush from without, the short hough-hough of
the stabbing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by thirty or forty
others, dashed through, yelling and hacking. The right flank of the
square sucked in after them, and the other sides sent help. The wounded,
who knew that they had but a few hours more to live, caught at the
enemy's feet and brought them down, or, staggering into a discarded
rifle, fired blindly into the scuffle that raged in the centre of the square.

Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his
helmet, that he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face
which forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that
Torpenhow had gone down under an Arab whom he had tried to 'collar
low,' and was turning over and over with his captive, feeling for the
man's eyes. The doctor jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a
helmetless soldier fired over Dick's shoulder: the flying grains of powder
stung his cheek. It was to Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The
representative of the Central Southern Syndicate had shaken himself
clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping his thumb on his trousers. The Arab,
both hands to his forehead, screamed aloud, then snatched up his spear