But one young
Mohammedan servant, who had incautiously exposed himself, dropped back shot
through the lungs.
Then from every side fire was opened, the coolies blazing wildly; but as
none of them had ever had a rifle in his hands before, the firing was for
the most part innocuous. Yet it served to encourage them, and they drew
nearer. The garrison, with only one or two defenders to each side of the
house, could not keep them at a distance. The infantry began to crawl
forward. The circle of foes closed in on the bungalow and its doomed
inhabitants. Shrieks and cries rose from the women and children inside.
But although every bullet from the garrison found its billet, the issue was
only a matter of time. Ill-directed as was the assailants' fire, the
showers of bullets were too thick not to have some effect. Another servant
was killed, a third wounded. Daleham was struck on the shoulder by a
ricochet but only scratched. A rifle bullet, piercing the barricade, passed
through Noreen's hair, as she crouched beside her lover, whom she
resolutely refused to leave. The ring of enemies constricted.
Suddenly a bugle sounded from the village; and after a little the firing
from the attackers ceased. Dermot, who with Noreen and Sher Afzul, was
defending the front verandah, looked cautiously over the barricade. A white
flag appeared in the village.
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