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“How long is it going to last?” he said.

“To-night will see the end of it,” said Carlyon, quietly going to his assistance. “The rising has been brewing for some time. The tribesmen need a lesson, so does the Government. It is just a bubble–this. It will explode to-night. To be honest for once”–Carlyon smiled a little over his bandaging–“I did not expect this attack so soon. A Heaven-sent messenger has been among the tribesmen. They revere him almost as much as the great prophet himself. He has been listening to their murmurings.”

Carlyon paused. Raymond was watching him intently, but the quiet face bent over his wound told him nothing.

“Had I known what was coming,” Carlyon said, “so much as three days ago, the women would not now be in the station. As things are, it would have been impossible to weaken the garrison to supply them with an escort to Akbar.”

Raymond stifled a deep curse in his throat. Had they but known indeed!

Carlyon went on in his deliberate way: “I shall leave you in command here to-night. I have other work to do. General Harford will be here at dawn. The attacking force will be on the east of the camp. You will crush them between you! You will stamp them down without mercy. Let them see the Empire is ready for them! They will not trouble us again for perhaps a few years.”

Again he paused. Raymond asked no question. Better than most he knew Carlyon of the Frontier.

“It will be a hard blow,” Carlyon said. “The tribesmen are very confident. Last night they watched a messenger ride eastwards on a white horse. It was an omen foretold by the Heaven-sent when he left them to carry the message through the hills to other tribes.”

Raymond gave a great start. “The girl!” he said.

For a second Carlyon’s eyes met his look. They were intensely blue, with the blueness of a flame.

“She is safe at Akbar,” he said, returning without emotion to the knotting of the bandage. “The road was open for the messenger. The horse was swift. There is one woman less to take the risk.”

“I see,” said Raymond quietly. He was frowning a little, but not at Carlyon’s strategy.

“The rest,” Carlyon continued, “must be fought for. The moon is full to-night. The Great Fakir will come out of the hills in his zeal and lead the tribes himself. Guard the east!”

Raymond drew a sharp breath. But Carlyon’s hand on his shoulder silenced the astounded question on his lips.

“We have got to protect the women,” Carlyon said. “Relief will come at dawn.”

X

SAVED A SECOND TIME

All through the day quiet reigned. An occasional sword-glint in the mountains, an occasional gleam of white against the brown hillside; these were the only evidences of an active enemy.

The women were released from durance in the club-house, with strict orders to return in the early evening.

Derrick went restlessly through the camp, seeking Carlyon. He found him superintending the throwing-up of earthworks. The most exposed part of the camp was to be abandoned. Derrick joined him in silence. Somehow this man’s personality attracted him strongly. Though he had defied him, quarrelled with him, insulted him, the spell of his presence was irresistible.

Carlyon paid small attention to him till he turned to leave that part of the camp’s defences. Then, with a careless hand through Derrick’s arm, he said:

“You will have your fill of stiff fighting to-night, boy. But, remember, you are not to throw yourself away.”

As evening fell, the attack was resumed, and it continued throughout the night. Tribesmen charged up to the very breastworks themselves and fell before the awful fire of the defenders’ rifles. Death had no terrors for them. They strove for the mastery with fanatical zeal. But they strove in vain. A greater force than they possessed, the force of discipline and organized resistance–kept them at bay. Behind the splendid courage of the Indian soldiers were the resource and the resolution of a handful of Englishmen. The spirit of the conquering race, unquenchable, irresistible, weighed down the balance.