“Heavens, man!” exclaimed Dr. Marlowe, “you are not going to try a shot at them?”

“That is my intention.”

“They are a mile distant!”

“One of my medals was won for hitting a target at exactly that distance,” replied Jack, continuing his preparations.

“It is impossible that you should succeed.”

“But not impossible that I should try, so please don’t bother the man at the wheel.”

“They have ridden into the water,” added the young woman, still nervous and excited.

“Which will serve to shorten the distance somewhat.”

“Why not wait until they are halfway across; or, better still, not wait at all?” inquired the doctor.

Jack Everson made no reply, but, lying down on his back, he slightly separated his raised knees, and, by crossing his ankles, made a rest for the barrel of his rifle.  The left arm was crooked under his head, so as to serve as a pillow or support, leaving the hand to steady the stock of his gun, while the right inclosed the trigger guard.

The horsemen, instead of riding side by side, were strung along in a line, with the leader several paces in advance and mounted on a rather large horse of a coal-black color.  Directly behind him came one upon a bay, while a little further back rode another on a white steed.  There could be no question that they were on their way to kill without mercy.

The situation was intensely trying to father and daughter.  The whole party of Ghoojurs had entered the Ganges and were steadily approaching.  The water was so shallow that it could be seen as it splashed about the bodies of the riders, who were talking and laughing, as if in anticipation of the enjoyment awaiting them.  They preserved their single file, like so many American Indians in crossing a stream, and their last thought must have been of any possible danger that could threaten them from the three on the further bank.

The situation was becoming unbearable when the rifle cracked with a noise no louder than a Chinese cracker, and a faint puff of smoke curled upward from the muzzle of the weapon.  At the same moment the Ghoojur at the front, on his black horse, flung up his arms and tumbled sideways into the water, which splashed over his animal’s head.  Frightened, the horse reared, pawed the air, and, whirling about, galloped back to the bank, sending the water flying in showers from his hoofs.

“Score me a bull’s-eye!” called Jack Everson, who in his pleasure over his success, could not wait for the result.

“But see!” cried Mary, “you have only infuriated them.  Oh! father, how can we save ourselves?”

CHAPTER IV.

Flight.

The success of the first shot gave Jack Everson self-confidence and he took less time in aiming the second, which was as unerring as the first.  Another Ghoojur plunged off his horse and gave but a single struggle when he sank from sight in the shallow water.