A score of others fell.

'Gee, but you were right, Ken!' muttered Dave. 'Fix bayonets!' Colonel
Conway's voice rang like a trumpet above the crackle of the firing.

Instantly came the clang of steel as the bayonets slipped into their
sockets. Men were falling fast, but the rest stood straining forward like
greyhounds on a leash.

'Not a shot, mind you. Give 'em the steel. At the double. Advance!'

Almost before the words were out of his mouth the whole line rushed
forward. A second star shell hissed skywards, but before it broke the men
had reached the base of the cliff. Its white glare showed the long-legged
athletes from the sheep ranges and cattle runs sprinting up the steep
hill-side.

The enemy rifles rattled in one long, terrible roll. Men dropped by dozens
and scores. Some fell where they lay, others rolled helplessly back down
the steep slope to the beach. But those left never paused or hesitated.
They scrambled desperately upwards through the pelting storm of lead,
guided by the flashes from the muzzles of the Turkish rifles.

Ken was conscious of nothing but a fierce desire to get to close quarters,
and he and Dave Burney went up side by side at the very top of their
speed.

Before they knew it, a dark hollow loomed before them. A rifle snapped
almost in Ken's face--so close that he felt the scorch of the powder.
Without an instant's hesitation he drove his bayonet at a dark figure