He turned angrily then on Private Gray, who was so cruelly mortified, especially as, glancing upward, he saw the window was open, and Rachel Linton and her cousin there, that he could not or would not speak a word in his defence. He gave Sim a look that made that scoundrel shiver, and then said to himself:

"She will not believe that I am a traitor!"

He glanced involuntarily upwards as this thought occurred to him, and the captain ground his teeth with rage as he saw the glance; but feeling as he did that he had his rival beneath his heel, a glow of triumph ran through him.

The next moment, though, all that was gentlemanly and true came to the surface, and he felt that Private Gray was not the man who could be guilty of such a crime. Sim must be the offending party, and Gray be too proud to speak. He could not iron him, or doubt his honour; he was too true a man; and as Sergeant Lund unwillingly came forward with a file of men, the captain motioned him back.

"This is no time for making prisoners," he said. "Sergeant, change the sentry here. Place two men on guard. Private Sim, go to the guard-room: I may want to question you. Private Gray, this is an awful charge against you, and if you are guilty you will be shot."

There was a faint sound as of some one's breath catching at the window above, but it was heard by Captain Smithers and Private Gray alone as they stood face to face.

"I know it, captain!" said Gray, quietly.

"We are in face of the enemy," continued Captain Smithers. "Take your rifle again, and help to defend the place. You had better die by the spear of a Malay. Go to the guard-room now; and mind, if any words pa.s.s between you and Private Sim--"

"Quick, sir, the alarm!" cried Gray, pointing out beneath the stars.

"The enemy!"

"Fire, sentry!" cried Captain Smithers; and the report of a rifle rang out on the still night air, for the Malays were advancing in force.

Fresh shots were fired on all sides as the men turned out, and were at their various places in a very few moments, the wisdom of the captain's commands being manifest; and as he saw Private Gray go down on one knee and begin firing, with careful aim, at the advancing enemy,--"He's no traitor," he muttered; "and I never doubted him at heart."

He had no time for further thought, for the attack had become general, and the Malays seemed furious, striving hard to gain an entry, but always encountering one or two bayonets at every point, till, after half an hour's fierce struggle, they drew back, leaving a number of dead and wounded around the place.

The defenders of the little fort drew breath at this, and as the firing ceased, the major's wife, with Rachel Linton and her cousin, came round, first with refreshments for the exhausted men, and, as soon as they were distributed, began to bandage those who were wounded.

It was while they were busy over this task, that in the darkness Rachel Linton came upon a man leaning against the breast-work, gazing attentively out at the position of the enemy.

"Are you wounded?" she asked; and at her words Private Gray started round and faced her.

"Only slightly," he said, "in body--but deeply in spirit."

"Let me bind your wound," said Rachel Linton, hoa.r.s.ely, and her voice trembled as she spoke.

"Which?" he said bitterly, as they stood alone.

"Let me bind your arm," she said quietly now, as she drew a long breath.

"It is but a scratch," he said carelessly, "a spear thrust."

Without another word Rachel Linton slit open the sleeve of the jacket he wore, and deftly bandaged the double wound, for the thrust had gone right through Gray's arm. Then rising, she stood before him for a moment or two.

"You asked which wound would I bind up, Adam Gray," she said sadly. "I have bound up one. If my words will help to bind up the other, let me tell you that I do not believe the foul charge made against you."

The rifle fell against Gray's wounded arm as he caught the speaker's hand in his, and raised it to his lips.

"You have done more," he said; "you have healed it."

For the next few moments he stood there as if holding the hand in his, though Rachel Linton had hurried away. Then he started, for he became aware that Tom Long had seen what had taken place, and was now standing leaning on his sword. But he did not speak, he only turned away, leaving Gray watching, and thinking hopefully now of the charge he had to meet.

"Smithers is a gentleman," he said to himself; "they cannot shoot me for what I have not done."

Then he began to wonder how the steamer had sped, and how soon they would bring back their friends. This was the more important, as he felt sure that a few such determined efforts on the Malay's part, and the little garrison must succ.u.mb.

"He is a brave young fellow, that Ali," he thought, "and has managed well."

Then he stood gazing out over the dark ground in front, where here and there he could make out the dimly seen form of some unfortunate combatant, who had not been carried off by his friends.

It was darker now than ever, and he was silently watching for danger, when a faint rustling noise caught his ear, and he brought his piece down to the present, for undoubtedly one of the bodies lying on the dark earth was in motion, and crawling slowly towards where he stood.

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

THE END OF ALI'S MISSION.

Adam Gray's finger was on the trigger of his piece, but he did not fire, though he carefully covered the figure before him, and watched attentively to make sure that it was no hallucination.

He had marked that figure before; one that lay face downwards, apparently just as the man had fallen from a shot. And now the dimly seen arms had changed positions--there was no doubt of that--and the figure was crawling forward.

What did it mean? Either it was a poor wounded wretch, striving hard to get relief and help, or else it was a trick on the part of a treacherous Malay, who was trying to put in force a North American Indian's tactics, and creeping forward to stab a sentry.

"And so gain an entrance into the fort," thought Adam Gray. "Well, my poor wretch, you will not do it, unless both my rifle ball and bayonet should miss."

Just then the figure stopped, and lay quite motionless; and again Gray hesitated, feeling sure that he must have been deceived, as he gazed now at the figure where it lay, some twenty yards away.

There it was, perfectly motionless, and in that darkness Gray felt that he really could not be sure about it. After all, the figure might be lying where it had first lain. It was impossible to say.

His doubts were dispelled the next moment, for the figure was once more in motion, and stopped short as the lock of the sentry's rifle clicked.

"Don't shoot!" said a voice in English; "I am a friend."

"If you move again, I fire!" said Gray in a low, stern voice. "Who are you?"

"Is that Private Gray?" said the voice.

"Mr Ali, is that you?" cried Gray, leaning towards him.

"Yes, it is I," said the figure, crawling rapidly towards him.

"What are you doing with the enemy?"

"Trying to make my way to you. They will not see now. Give me your hand, and I will climb up."

Gray leaned out over the breast-work, gave his hand to the young man, and, with a little exercise of his muscular strength, half-drew, half-aided him to climb into the stronghold--just as Captain Smithers and Tom Long leaped upon them, seizing each his man, and holding his sword to his throat.

"You doubly-dyed scoundrel!" cried Captain Smithers. "Caught him in the act! Call the guard there!"

"Don't you know me, Long?" said a voice that made Tom lower his sword point.