A shout burst from the natives as the last portion of the door dropped from its hinges, and the doorway was open. There was, however, no inclination betrayed to make a rush.
"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 fancied that you had all gone
