beneath him, at the same time springing down into the trench. The whole
weight of his body was behind his thrust, and the Turk, spitted like a
fowl, fell dead beneath him.

[Illustration: 'He drove his bayonet at a dark figure.']

With an effort he dragged the blade loose. Only just in time, for a burly
man in a fez was swinging at his head with a rifle butt. Ken ducked under
his arm, turned smartly and bayoneted him in the side.

The whole trench was full of struggling men. The Turks fought well, but
good men as they are, they were no match for the long, lean six footers
who were upon them. Inside three minutes it was all over. Most of the
Turks were dead, the few survivors were prisoners.

'Lively while it lasted,' panted Dave's voice at Ken's elbow.

'You, Dave. Are you all right?'

'Lost my hat and my wind. Nothing else missing so far as I know. Are you
chipped?'

'Not a touch. But keep your head down. This is only the first act. There's
another trench above this one.'

During the struggle in the trench the firing had ceased entirely, but now
that it was over a pestilence of bullets began to pour again from higher
up the slope, and Ken's warning was useful--to say the least of it.

'What comes next?' asked Dave, as the two crouched together against the