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Around him lay his men, flat on the ground, eyes focussed on the turn in the road below. Their eyes glowed like the eyes of caged beasts, their sinewy fingers played continually with the rifle-hammers. Jack hesitated, his arm around Lorraine's body, his eyes fixed nervously on the bend in the road. Something was coming; there were cries, the trample of horses, the shuffle of footsteps.
Brodeur turned a knurled disk, and from one of the boxes on the grass a sudden, whining hum arose, like millions of angry hornets. "Fire!" repeated the Master. Six rifle-hammers fell with dull clicks. Nothing more. The Master smiled in mockery. "O Bara Miyan," said he, "let thy men reload and fire again! Perhaps the sweat of a great anxiety hath wet their powder!"
"You take the leader and another stallion, I will look out for the mares. Aim for just behind the shoulder. Are you ready?" "Yes," breathed Mildmay. "Then fire!" whispered the professor. And, as the rifle-hammers softly clicked, the thud of the bullets was heard, and the leader and a handsome mare dropped, shot through the heart.
As the words left his lips the click, click of the rifle-hammers sounded, and the leading savage and three others stumbled and fell prone to the earth, their shields and spears flying from their nerveless hands, and ere they were fairly down, four others rolled over and lay motionless, followed by another and yet another four, until, within the brief space of some twenty seconds, no fewer than forty black warriors lay prostrate, either dead, or badly wounded.
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