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Updated: May 27, 2025
"'Never a word we spoke, but just jogged on with our chins cocked up till we were forenent the big drum, where yon old scoundrel Umgazi was standing with his young men looking as black as sin. For a moment their spears were shaking in their hands, and I heard the click of a breech-bolt. If we had winked an eye we would have become pincushions that instant. But some unearthly power upheld us.
Of course his story had to be about the war; there are no other stories nowadays. And so he wrote of English soldiers who, in the dusk on a field of France, faced the sullen mass of the oncoming Huns. They were few against fearful odds, but, as they sent the breech-bolt home and aimed and fired, they became aware that others fought beside them. Down the air came cries to St.
"Halt, I tell you!" A breech-bolt clicked, and then another one. They were little sounds, but they were different, and the guard could hear them plainly. The galloping horse came on. "Cra-a-a-a-ack!" went the sentry's rifle, and the flash of it spurted for an instant across the road, like a sheet of lightning.
The man from Ao-chung clicked the breech-bolt of his gun impatiently, and made as to go downhill. 'Wait a little, Holy One; they cannot go far. Wait till I return, said he. 'It is this person who has suffered wrong, said the lama, his hand over his brow. 'For that very reason, was the reply. 'If this person overlooks it, your hands are clean. Moreover, ye acquire merit by obedience.
I'll give him and his party one more minute to get clear. Then there's going to be a holocaust, my friend!" He cocked his rifle, and examined the breech-bolt and the foresight carefully. The fakir shuddered, evidently thinking that the charge was intended for himself. "No! It won't be that way. I know a better! I'm taking a leaf from your book and doing harm by wholesale!"
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