"Forward! Death to the infidel dogs!" shouted their officer.

"Suppose you lead us," said one of the troopers; "the officers always show
the way."

"Come, then," cried an old officer, on whose breast hung several medals;
"follow me!"

Drawing his sword, he rushed forward, followed by twenty of his men. But
as he passed over the threshold he and the trooper next to him fell
beneath the bayonet thrusts of Major Warrener and his companion. The next
two, pushed forward by their comrades, shared the same fate; while, as
they fell, the muskets of Ned and Dick sent their contents into the mass.
The rest recoiled from the fatal doorway, while the defenders set up a
cheer of triumph. It was drowned in a crash of musketry, mingled with a
cry of surprise and despair from the natives, as a body of British
soldiers leaped from the wood, and followed their volley by an impetuous
charge. The cavalry on the plain turned and fled at a gallop; and in five
minutes, but for a few dark figures prostrate on the plain, not an enemy
was in sight.

"Well, gentlemen, you have made a stout defense," the officer in command
said, as he returned to the shrine, outside which the little party had
gathered. "It seems as if you could have done without my help. Who are
you, may I ask? And where have you sprung from?"

"Why, Sibbold, is it you? You haven't forgotten Warrener? And here are
Dunlop and Manners."

"Hurrah!" shouted the officer. "Thank God, old fellows, you are saved; we