enemy, whether with intent to surprise, or merely fired with the nervous
irritation of one who can no longer stand the strain of awaiting an
impending blow, determined to hasten the issue by taking the offensive.
So collecting his rough and ragged legions, stout of heart and stout of
arm, carrying weapons not meanly to be compared with our own, the outlaw
chief, Ajun Khan, marched out to attack the British, and to take them
unawares in their tents.

The movement was at once reported by the British outposts, but troops
take some few minutes to arm, equip, and form up in line of battle;
while the Affghan border warrior moves with a swiftness that may well
cause panic and dismay. A young subaltern of the Guides, Lieutenant G.N.
Hardinge, seeing how matters were trending, rode out to the outlying
picket of the Guides' cavalry, and there took his stand. It was an
anxious moment. Behind him was the hastily arming camp, humming with the
bustle of preparation; and before him, advancing across the stony plain,
moved a line of skirmishers backed up by closed supports, and followed
by great hordes of shouting warriors.

The motionless troop of the Guides stood foremost to meet the shock. On
came the hardy tribesmen swiftly and relentlessly; but still, as he
looked anxiously back, it was plain to the British subaltern that his
comrades were not yet armed to meet the coming storm. "We can only give
them one minute more," he said, and stout and steady came the answer:
"Yes, your Honour, one minute more." And as they spoke each stalwart
trooper gripped his sword still tighter and, shortening his reins, laid
the flat of his thigh hard on his wiry neighing stallion; for as of old,
so now, the war-horse scented the battle from afar.

The time passed very slowly, a minute seeming an eternity to the