"He can't," Ted retorted; "they're penned in there like sheep. And how could he break through with nearly a dozen women and kids to protect?

Would you have him leave them to their fate?"

"Half his men could do it."

"Not they--nor twice his whole force. It's a soldier's risk that we bargained for when we took our commissions. We may win through yet; and if not, we must just stick to it as long as we can. Well, what's the matter now, havildar?"

Ambar Singh had left his post.

"The dogs are about to make a rush, Ensign Sahib. They Have brought logs and beams and mean to batter down the door. Listen! They are volley-firing to keep us from the loopholes."

The fusillade had suddenly redoubled--steady volleys this time--and a hail of lead pattered against the walls, and a few bullets smacked against the sides of the slits and cannoned shapeless into the room.

"Quick, upstairs, you three!" Ted cried. "Take as many muskets as you can carry and fire rapidly!"

Three sepoys nodded significantly and ran up the stairs. In another moment a succession of reports from above announced that they understood their business. As our hero had intended, the rebels jumped at the conclusion that their fire having become too hot, the garrison had shifted, so they changed their aim.

Instantly the abandoned loopholes were occupied, just as two parties, each of six or eight men bearing improvised battering-rams, charged the door at full speed. Crack went eight muskets together, and half a dozen fell. Fresh firearms were handed to the marksmen, and the logs were dropped as the few survivors scuttled away. For a third time the reports rang out, and only one of the log-carriers rejoined his comrades.

"Down, men!" Ted gave warning, as the rebels savagely changed their aim once more and swept the lower embrasures with their fire. One poor fellow was not quite quick enough. Before he could duck a bullet had entered his forehead. Setting aside the two Rajputs who were dangerously wounded, there were now twelve sepoys and two English lads to defend the place, and of these fourteen five were wounded.

"Curse the bloodthirsty ruffians!" Tynan hissed.

His blood was up. Springing to a loophole he fired twice, bringing down a man each time.

"Be careful," Ted cautioned him. "That won't pay."

"The sooner it's over the better," Tynan replied, but took the advice all the same.

The hostile fire gradually slackened, and the garrison were shortly enabled to watch the proceedings of their adversaries. They could see Pir Baksh vainly exhorting the mutineers to make a second attempt. But the sepoys shook their heads. The danger was too great, or why did not Pir Baksh himself lead them, they asked. Their English officers were wont to share the danger with the sepoys, but he, Pir Baksh, was careful to keep out of range whenever he sent them forward. No, they preferred to wait for night, when the risk would be small.

Judging that they would be safe for another hour at least, the two Englishmen ordered food to be prepared. They anticipated that the crisis would come with the sunset, and strength must be kept up.

"What are you grinning at?" asked Tynan, as they sat cross-legged over the meal.

"I was thinking what a rummy go it is," Ted replied, "that we two of all the officers should be here together. We haven't been friends, Tynan, but if ever we get out of this hole I hope we will be. And if we don't get out, I trust we can die without any bad feeling between us. Shake hands on it, old chap."

Tynan leant forward to meet the proffered hand.

"All right, Russell! I'm agreeable. It ain't my fault that we've not been friends."

This was not a very gracious speech, and Ted's ardour was damped. He shook hands, however, saying:

"We must back one another up to-day."

"Right! But look here, you mustn't forget that I'm senior officer here.

You've been giving orders pretty freely."

"Because you didn't seem ready with any suggestions."

"It's my turn now, remember," Tynan asserted in an aggrieved tone; and Ted felt sorry he had spoken, as the other seemed incapable of sinking his personal feelings even at such a time. Unless his senior officer showed more sign of rising to the occasion, he determined to continue to issue orders.

Though the magazine at Aurungpore was not a large one, its capture would prove an enormous boon to the rebel cause, for therein was stored a quantity of ammunition and material of war. Armed therewith, all the rabble of the town would soon be equipped as soldiers, and our ensign understood what would then become of his friends and comrades, and above all of his brother's sweetheart. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered Jim's parting whisper, and there rose before him the picture of the girl who had saved his life and whom he secretly adored. He vowed to do his duty manfully, and never to despair while there remained the least hope of preventing the ravening wolves outside from gaining access to the stores.

"What the deuce are you up to now?" Tynan broke in.

The senior ensign had been regarding the junior's meditations with considerable curiosity, wondering how he could become so absorbed at so critical a time. His query had been called forth by a sudden change of expression that had overspread his comrade's features. Ted's eyes had opened wide, and he had given an almost imperceptible gasp, sure signs that some startling idea had come upon him unawares.

"What is it, Russell?" Tynan repeated.

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" Ted hastily assured him. "I was just thinking what an awful business this is."

"Has that only just occurred to you?" his comrade sullenly inquired, convinced that Ted was keeping something back.

And so he was. Not that he wished to mislead his brother officer but rather because the idea that had so unceremoniously thrust itself in front of him, suggested an action so appalling as almost to stupefy him.

He must think, think, think. Could he bring himself to do it? Ought he to do it?

Hardly the place or time this for quiet meditation, for the weighing of pros and cons. One of the watchers signalled that the pandies had again lost patience, and to confirm his words the heavy fusillade recommenced, and the ensign ceased to ponder and began to act. The rebels had now got the range with deadly accuracy, and unless he courted death, none of the garrison dared return the fire.

Our hero did make one such attempt, and reduced the number of one of the battering-crews. But before he could get in a second shot the muzzle of his musket was struck and dented, and a bullet whistled through his hair, grazing the skin. He crouched down and put his hand to his head, fearing he was done for. A soft thud and rattle beside him announced the fall of a sepoy who had followed the rash example with fatal courage.

Forgetting his own wound the ensign knelt beside the Rajput and raised his head. The poor fellow still breathed but was going fast, and a shudder ran through the boy as the man died in his arms, true to the end.

"Are you hurt?" Tynan asked.

"I'm not quite sure. I don't think so."

"Let me see. Oh, it's only a scratch."

The sepoys in the room above, less hampered by the rebel fire, were answering back to some purpose until they too were silenced, one of their number being mortally wounded. A crash against the stout door seemed to shake the house, and before the vibration ceased another bang was heard. Englishmen and Rajputs were firing hastily whenever an opportunity occurred, but the pandies now held the upper hand. A splintering noise followed the next crash.

"What can we do, Russell? What can we do?" Tynan cried. "They'll be in in a moment!"

Backed by the strength of half a dozen men the logs crashed once more against the barrier, and the hearts of the garrison were heavy as lead.

"We're not done for yet," Ted stoutly replied. "We must wait for them in the passage. We may yet hold the passage, Ambar Singh; and should we die, men will speak of your deeds from generation to generation."

"We can hold them back for a time, sahib. Come, my children, and thou, Bisesar Rai, and thou, Dwarika Rai, load and pass us the muskets as we lie in the doorway."

Of the twenty-two Rajputs ten were still able to fight, and three others remained alive though sorely wounded. They were now all together, and Ted, Ambar Singh the havildar, and as many others as could crowd in, were lying full length before the wide-arched entrance to the room. From the slowly-yielding door the passage ran straight for a few paces before curving to the right, and an enemy coming round the bend would be at a great disadvantage, for the best marksmen of the garrison waited with ready muskets, their elbows on the threshold, their bodies within the room. Behind them two comrades stood, a loaded musket in each hand, to exchange for the emptied weapons, and beside them knelt Bisesar Rai and Dwarika Rai busily loading the firearms. The pandies could not take aim without coming into full view, but the defenders could fire with a minimum of exposure, and could draw back their heads into safety whenever they saw a musket-barrel pointing at random towards them.

A louder crash, a shrill yell, and a mob of maddened sepoys swept inside and round the bend. Six muskets cracked at once, and the yells changed to howls of dismay. A second volley--not in unison this time, but no less effective--and the sepoys turned and fled. The victory was not to be so easy as they had imagined. Had the garrison been armed as were they, with one Brown Bess apiece and a limited supply of ammunition, it would all have been over long ago they told themselves, but when volley followed volley with such rapidity, it was like facing a regiment. The sepoys were not cowards as a rule, but they knew they were playing a traitor's part. In a good cause, well led, they would have risked the danger, even as the handful of loyal Rajputs were devoting their lives to their duty.

A nerve-ruining silence, broken only by the moans of the wounded who lay on the floor, followed the shrill outcries. The rebels were baffled but not defeated. Slowly, painfully the minutes dragged, then two black heads showed round the bend, and two spurts of flame flashed out. Before the reports had reached them, Ted and Ambar Singh had pressed their fingers, and two sepoys fell forward on their faces. The defenders were untouched, the rebels having fired at random, and for a while none dared follow their example.

In despair several of the raging mob pushed their musket-barrels round the bend and let fly, in the hope that an occasional bullet out of many might reduce the number of their dogged antagonists. But Ted drew his men back from the doorway until the sepoys were tired of this amusement.

Each rebel urged his neighbour to face the fire of those death-dealing muskets; each man knew that the end was at hand, and preferred to hold himself back that he might share in the plunder. Now that they were no longer a glorious regiment but a mere mob of rebels, none was ready to give his life for the cause. The garrison also knew that the end was drawing near, and were in no way deceived by the momentary calm.

"Hullo!" Ted cried, and stared open-mouthed. "What's that for?"