Without an instant’s hesitation, Ken charged straight at the two Turks.

They, intent on their prisoner, failed to see him until he was almost on them.  Then one, uttering a hoarse cry, sprang forward, stabbing at him with his bayonet.

Ken’s blade clashed against the other’s as he parried, then side-stepping like a flash, he drove his bayonet into the man’s ribs, and with a choking sob he fell dead.

Something whizzed past Ken’s head, and a heavy blow on the left shoulder brought him to his knees.  The second Turk had struck at him with his rifle butt, and missing his head, caught him on the shoulder.  He saw a savage grin on the man’s face as he raised his rifle again to finish the job and avenge his comrade.  It looked all odds on Ken’s brains being scattered the next instant.

Before the rifle could descend a shadow flashed across, and something crashed upon the Turk’s head with such fearful force as cracked his skull like an egg-shell.  For a moment his body remained upright, then it swayed and fell sideways like a log to the ground.

‘Gosh, but I thought I was too late!’ panted Roy Horan.  ’And confound it all, I’ve cracked the stock of my rifle.’

‘You saved my head from being cracked anyhow,’ answered Ken.  ’But Dave’s hit.  Give us a hand back with him.’

‘I’ll carry him,’ said Roy quickly, and dropping his useless rifle, he quickly hoisted Burney on his broad back, and set off at a run for the trench.  Ken, whose shoulder felt quite numb, followed, and a moment later all three tumbled safely back into the trench.

Roy laid Dave down gently on the ground.

‘Afraid he’s got it bad,’ he whispered, as he pointed to an ugly stain on the back of Dave’s tunic.  ‘We must get the doctor as soon as we can.’

’Let’s see if we can’t stop that bleeding.  The doctor’s full up with work.’  As Ken spoke, he bent down and began stripping off Dave’s uniform, so as to get at the wound.

Tunic and shirt were both sodden with blood.  Ken’s heart sank.  It looked as if his chum must have been shot clean through the body.

‘He’s bleeding like a pig,’ muttered Roy, as he unwound a bandage.

By this time Ken had bared Dave’s back, and with a handkerchief mopped away the blood.

‘Well, I’m blessed!’ he exclaimed.  ‘Look at that!’

The two stared, for instead of the blue-edged puncture which a bullet makes as it enters, there was nothing but a shallow cut about three inches long.

‘I see,’ said Ken suddenly.  ’The bullet struck the leather of his braces, and glanced.  I say, Dave, old chap, you may thank your stars for those bullock-hide braces of yours.  They’ve saved you this time, and no mistake.  It’s only a flesh wound which a strip of plaster will put right in a day or two.’

‘Thanks be for that, anyhow,’ said Dave earnestly.  ’It would have broken me all up to lose the rest of the fun.  But,’ he added thoughtfully, ’I’m sorry my braces are gone up.  I’ll never get another pair like ’em.’