“I see,” said Raymond quietly.  He was frowning a little, but not at Carlyon’s strategy.

“The rest,” Carlyon continued, “must be fought for.  The moon is full to-night.  The Great Fakir will come out of the hills in his zeal and lead the tribes himself.  Guard the east!”

Raymond drew a sharp breath.  But Carlyon’s hand on his shoulder silenced the astounded question on his lips.

“We have got to protect the women,” Carlyon said.  “Relief will come at dawn.”

X

SAVED A SECOND TIME

All through the day quiet reigned.  An occasional sword-glint in the mountains, an occasional gleam of white against the brown hillside; these were the only evidences of an active enemy.

The women were released from durance in the club-house, with strict orders to return in the early evening.

Derrick went restlessly through the camp, seeking Carlyon.  He found him superintending the throwing-up of earthworks.  The most exposed part of the camp was to be abandoned.  Derrick joined him in silence.  Somehow this man’s personality attracted him strongly.  Though he had defied him, quarrelled with him, insulted him, the spell of his presence was irresistible.

Carlyon paid small attention to him till he turned to leave that part of the camp’s defences.  Then, with a careless hand through Derrick’s arm, he said: 

“You will have your fill of stiff fighting to-night, boy.  But, remember, you are not to throw yourself away.”

As evening fell, the attack was resumed, and it continued throughout the night.  Tribesmen charged up to the very breastworks themselves and fell before the awful fire of the defenders’ rifles.  Death had no terrors for them.  They strove for the mastery with fanatical zeal.  But they strove in vain.  A greater force than they possessed, the force of discipline and organized resistance—­kept them at bay.  Behind the splendid courage of the Indian soldiers were the resource and the resolution of a handful of Englishmen.  The spirit of the conquering race, unquenchable, irresistible, weighed down the balance.

In the middle of the night Captain Raymond was hit in the shoulder and carried, fainting, to the closely guarded club-house, where his wife was waiting.

The command devolved upon Lieutenant Steele, who took up the task undismayed.  Down in the hastily dug trenches Toby Carey was fiercely holding his men to their work.

And Derrick Rose was with him, unrestrained for that night at least.

“Relief at dawn!” Toby said to him once.

And Derrick responded with a wild laugh.

“Relief be damned!  We can hold our own without it.”

* * * * *

Relief came with the dawn, at a moment when the tribesmen were spurring themselves to the greatest effort of all, sustained by the knowledge that their Great Fakir was among them.