He had returned to
the homely paths of the commonplace, and young, unformed, untried, he
was caught up by kind fate to the place of the wise and the heroic.
Suddenly on his thoughts there broke in a dull tread of men, a sound of
slipping stones and feet upon dry gravel. He broke into the cold sweat
of tense nerves, and waited, half hidden, with his rifle ready. Then
came the light of dull lanterns which showed a thin, endless column
beneath the rock walls. They advanced with wonderful quietness, the
sound of feet broken only by a soft word of command. He calculated the
distance--now it was three hundred yards, now two, now a bare eighty.
At fifty his rifle flew to his shoulder and he fired. His nerves were
bad, for one bullet clicked on the rock, while the second took the dust
a yard before the enemy's feet. Instantly there was a halt and the
sound of speech.
The failure had steadied him. The second pair of shots killed their
men. He heard the quick cry of pain and shivered. He was new to this
work and the cry hurt him. But he picked up his express and fired
again, and again there was a cry and a fall. Then he heard a word of
command and the sound of men creeping in the side of the nullah. Eye
and ear were marvelously acute at the moment, for he picked out the
scouts and killed them. Then he loaded his rifles and waited.
He saw a man in the half-light not five yards below him.
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