Two men had emerged from the scrub and stood on the edge of the slope.
They were gazing intently at him, and suddenly one lifted a Snider to
his shoulder and fired. The bullet burrowed in the sand to the right of
him. Again he looked back and there they were--five of them now--crying
out to him. Then with one accord they followed over the plateau.
It was now a clear race for life. He must keep beyond reasonable
rifle-shot; otherwise a broken leg might bring him to a standstill. He
cursed the deceptive clearness of the hill air which made it impossible
for his unpractised eye to judge distances. The fort stood clear in
every stone, but it might be miles off though it looked scarcely a
thousand yards. Apparently it was still asleep, for no smoke was
rising, and, strain his ears as he might, he could hear no sound of a
sentry's walk. This looked awkward indeed for him. If the people were
not awake to receive him, he would be potted against its wall as surely
as a rat in a corner. He grew acutely nervous, and as he drew nearer he
made the air hideous with shouts to wake the garrison. A clear race in
the open he did not mind; but he had no stomach for a game of
hide-and-seek around an unscalable wall with an active enemy.
Apparently the gentry behind him were growing despondent. Two rifle
bullets, fired by running men, sang unsteadily in his wake.
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