'Because so soon as ever it's dark we'll have the Turks buzzing round us like bees. And the ships can't help us then, remember,' he added significantly.
Sergeant O'Brien was soon proved a true prophet. Darkness had hardly fallen before the scrub in front was alive with Turks, who came on with a rush, intent on driving the Colonials out of their position.
'Steady, boys!' cried the sergeant. 'Don't fire till ye can see them. Let every cartridge tell.'
Every officer and every non-com. down the long length of the trench was giving the same advice, and the Turks were allowed to approach until their squat forms loomed clear in the starlight.
'Now let 'em have it. Pump it into 'em, lads!' came O'Brien's voice again.
With one crash every rifle spoke at once, and at the same time the maxims turned loose their hose-pipe streams of lead. The Turks seemed to melt and vanish under the concentrated storm of fire. Not one reached the trench.
'Socked 'em that time,' remarked Dave, with great satisfaction.
'Sure, that was only the overture!' answered O'Brien. 'They were just thrying their luck, so to spake.'
Again he was right. As soon as the survivors of the first attack had retreated the air became thick with the shriek and moan of shrapnel, and the vicious whizz of Mauser bullets. This went on for nearly an hour, then a second attack materialised.
It was in heavier force than the first, and though the steady fire of the Colonials did tremendous execution, some of the Turks actually reached the trench and came plunging in, stabbing wildly with their short bayonets.
Not one of them ever got out again, but they did a good deal of damage, and during the lull that followed the stretcher-bearers were busy. Five separate times during the hours of darkness did fresh masses of Turks sweep down upon the worn and weary Colonials, and twice parties of the latter counter-attacked and drove the survivors helter-skelter before them.
'Jove, I never was gladder to see daylight,' said Ken hoarsely, as a pale yellow light began to dim the stars. His eyes stung with powder smoke, his mouth was sour with fatigue, and every muscle in his body ached.
'Well, lad, we've made good, anyway,' said O'Brien with a smile on his blackened face. 'Just take a peep over, and see what ye can see.'
Ken raised his head cautiously and peered through the embrasure in front. The sight that met his eyes was a terrible one. The scrub for nearly a hundred yards in front of the trench had almost vanished. It had been literally mown down by the storm of bullets which had raged across it all night long. And all the open space was paved with the bodies of dead and wounded men. There were hundreds of them, some on their faces, some on their backs, most of them still enough, a few trying to crawl away, and others moaning feebly.
It was a horrible sight, and for the moment Ken felt almost sick.
'They'll not thry it again just yet,' said O'Brien quietly. 'The next attack will be one in force, and for that they'll need more men than they've left here.'
'And we'll be ready for them then, eh, sergeant?' said Roy Horan cheerfully. 'There's more than ourselves been busy during the night.'
As he spoke he pointed over in the other direction, and Ken, with difficulty withdrawing his eyes from the scene of slaughter in front, looked back down the cliff.
A cry of delight escaped him. A regular road had been made, curving all the way up the cliff, and two field guns had been brought up, and set in position. In spite of the enemies' fire, all sorts of stores had come ashore in the night, and the camp cooks were already busy preparing breakfast.
It was the first hot meal that any of the men had had for thirty-six hours, and it did them all the good in the world. When it was over they were told to take what sleep they could.
Ken and his two chums needed no second order. They simply pitched themselves down, and no one ever slept better on a spring mattress than Ken did in the muddy bottom of that trench.
What woke him at last was a crash which made the solid hill-side quiver, and dwarfed to insignificance anything that he had previously heard.
In a flash he was up and on his feet.
'Go aisy, lad,' said O'Brien, who was standing up, with a pair of glasses to his eyes and a smile on his lips. Go aisy. 'Tis only Lizzie opening the ball.'
'Lizzie?' muttered Ken, still half dazed with the prodigious explosion.
Again came an enormous roar, followed by a sound like a train rushing through the sky. Then from a hill to the left and a mile or so inland a geyser of rocks and soil spouted, and was followed by the same earth-shaking crash which had wakened him.
Ken looked out to sea. Some three miles off shore lay the biggest battleship he had ever set eyes on. Even at that distance her immense turrets, with their grinning gun muzzles, were clearly visible.
'The "Queen Elizabeth!"' he gasped.
'That's what,' said Roy Horan, who had got up and joined Ken. 'They've sent her along to lend us a hand. Oh, I tell you, she's no slouch. Watch her now! Gee, but she's giving Young Turkey something to chew on.'
'Why, there's a regular fleet!' exclaimed Ken, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. 'This is something like. Some of those sniping gentlemen are going to be sorry for themselves.'
No fewer than seven warships were lying off the coast, every one of them smashing their broadsides into the Turkish positions. The noise was incredible, but every sound was dwarfed when the great super-Dreadnought fired her 15-inch guns. The shells, the length of a tall man and weighing very nearly a ton, were charged with shrapnel, carrying no fewer than twenty thousand bullets apiece. Exploding over the enemy's position, each deluged a couple of acres of ground with a torrent of lead.
It was a most amazing sight. The whole sky was full of the smoke of bursting shells—smoke so heavy that the light breeze could not break it, as it swam in masses that seemed quite solid until they struck against the higher ground far inland.
Hour after hour the tremendous bombardment continued. At first the Turkish field pieces endeavoured to reply, but one by one they were silenced, and when at last, late in the afternoon, the thunder of the guns ceased, the silence was only broken by a faint crackle of musketry.
'Now's our chance!' exclaimed O'Brien, who seemed to have an uncanny faculty for understanding beforehand exactly what was in the colonel's mind.
'A charge, you mean?' said Ken eagerly.
'That's it, sonny. Before they've got over the effects of that swate little pasting.'
Sure enough, a minute later came the order for advance, and, refreshed by their long rest, the Australians and New Zealanders came pouring over their parapet, and with bayonets flashing in the evening sun, rushed forward through the scrub.
For the first two hundred yards there was hardly a check, then all of a sudden the scattered fire thickened.
'They're in the ravine, bhoys,' shouted O'Brien. 'Don't be waiting to shoot. Give thim the steel.'
The firing grew heavier. Many of the gallant Colonials dropped, but the only effect upon the rest was to make them race forward at greater speed.
Ken saw before him a dark line seamed with spits and flashes of flame. A bullet clipped past his ear so close that he felt the wind of it. He never paused. Next moment he was over the lip of the shallow ravine in which the Turks had entrenched themselves.
On the two previous occasions when he and his comrades had attacked Turkish trenches, the enemy had defended themselves bravely. Now they seemed no longer to have any stomach for the fight. As the Colonials poured like an avalanche into the ravine the Turks turned, and scrambling wildly up the far side, bolted for their lives.
But the Colonials, with the bitter memory in their minds of all they had suffered during the previous night and day, were not minded to let them escape so easily. With loud shouts they gave chase. The Turks, good marchers but poor runners, stood no earthly chance in this terrible race, and by scores and hundreds were bayoneted or seized and dragged back as prisoners.
Filled with mad excitement, Ken raced onwards in the forefront of the line. His bayonet was dripping, a red mist clouded his eyes, for the moment he was fighting mad.
He stumbled over a log and nearly fell. He realised that he was in a small wood of low-growing trees with wide spreading branches. To his right he heard shouts and shrieks and the sound of shots, but for the moment there was not another soul in sight.
His throat was like a lime kiln. He stopped a moment to take a swallow of water from his felt-covered flask, then went forward again.
He came to an open space, and as he reached its edge saw four men with a quick-firer hurrying frantically across the open to the trees on the far side.
Three were Turks, but the fourth wore the gray-green of a German officer. The latter was short and—for a German—slight. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar.
At that moment he turned and glanced round, and Ken saw his face. He could hardly believe his eyes. The man was Kemp, ex-steward of the 'Cardigan Castle.' There could be no doubt about it. That sallow complexion, the low forehead, and the thick black eyebrows which met above his nose were quite unmistakable.
Without an instant's hesitation Ken flung up his rifle and fired straight at the man. But blown with long running, his hand shook. At any rate, he missed, and next instant the German, the Turks, and their gun vanished into the trees opposite.
Footsteps came crashing through the dead leaves and dry sticks behind Ken.
'We've got 'em on toast, Carrington,' came the deep voice of Roy Horan. The big fellow was splashed with blood and dripping with perspiration, but in his eyes was a gleam which told of his delight at the result of the charge.
Ken gave a gasp of joy.
'The very man, Horan! Kemp and three Turkish gunners have just gone into the trees opposite. They've got a quick-firer. Are you game to hunt 'em down?'
'Kemp?' exclaimed Roy, who had of course heard the story of the treachery aboard the 'Cardigan Castle.' 'Kemp, that spy scoundrel—are you sure?'
'Dead certain, though I can't imagine how he got here.'
'More can I, but by the Lord Harry, we'll have his scalp all right. Which way did they go?'
Ken pointed and began to run. Roy raced alongside.
It was the maddest enterprise, and if either had stopped to think they would have realised this fact. Two against four, and the latter armed with a quick-firer! And by way of improving matters, the two had outrun all their companions and were far out in a country swarming with enemy troops.
But Ken thought only of vengeance against the traitor Kemp, and as for Roy, he was the sort to fight till he dropped, and laugh at any odds.
'Where's Dave?' asked Ken, as they tore along, side by side.
'All right when I last saw him about half a mile back,' was the answer. 'Which way have those blighters gone?'
Ken, alone, might have been at a loss to follow, but this was where Roy came in. Brought up on a great cattle run, he could track a stray beast over miles of ranges. It was child's play to him to trace the heavy footmarks over the leaf-strewn floor of the wood.
'Go as quietly as you can,' he whispered to Ken. 'Kemp's quite cute enough to ambush us if he thinks we're on his track.'
It was wonderful how quietly the young giant could move, and Ken, naturally light-footed, followed his example easily. The tracks led uphill, and presently the trees began to thin, and the ground to become more stony.
Then the trees gave out altogether, and they found themselves on the side of a great hill seamed with gullies and covered with low scrub and loose stones.
'There they are!' said Ken in a low voice, pointing to heads just visible over the edge of one of the shallow gullies. 'I tell you what they're after. They're going to emplace that gun somewhere up on the hill-side, and pepper our people on their way back.'
Roy nodded.
'That's about the size of it. Well, it's up to us to spoil their little game. We must work up along the next gully parallel with them and get a slap at 'em over the edge.'
'That's the tip,' said Ken, 'but mind, we've got to bust up the gun itself as well as the men with it.'
Bending double so as not to be seen, the two scurried up the parallel gully until they reckoned that they must be on a level with the gun and its crew.
'It's going to be a stalk now,' whispered Roy, and dropping on hands and knees, crept cautiously over the side of the gully.
On the ridge he stopped.
'Hang the luck!' he muttered. 'They've gone a lot farther than I reckoned. They're a couple of hundred yards away, and still moving. What's worse, the two gullies bend away from one another, and there's no cover to speak of.'
Ken crept up alongside, and took a look.
'It's a bit awkward,' he admitted. 'But they're taking it easy. We ought to be able to make fair practice from here.'
Roy nodded.
'All right. You take the left-hand man. I'll try for the right.'
A couple of seconds pause, then the two rifles spoke at once. Ken's man went down like a log, but Roy apparently missed his.
Roy gave an angry exclamation and took a rapid second shot.
'Hurrah—nailed him that time,' as he saw the man go over like a shot rabbit.
The remaining Turk, seeing his companions down, turned and made a dead bolt. Kemp, with a cry of rage which came plainly to their ears, rushed after him, apparently with the idea of bringing him back.
Ken and Roy both loosed off at once, but without success, and next instant their quarry was out of sight over the far ridge.
'Rotten luck! It was Kemp we wanted,' growled Roy.
'We want the gun worse,' Ken answered grimly.
Springing up, he dropped into the far gully and began to run towards the gun.
'Watch out for Kemp,' sang out Roy, as he followed. 'He may be laying for us just over the ridge.'
'I thought of that,' answered Ken. 'I'll slip across and have a look.'
Both crept together over the second ridge, but there was no sign of Kemp or of the third Turk. They might have sunk into the ground for all that could be seen of them.
'Now for the gun,' said Ken, as he dropped back into the gully.
They wasted no time at all in reaching it. Beside it lay the two Turks. They were both quite dead.
'Pity we can't take the gun back with us,' said Ken regretfully.
'Why shouldn't we? I'll sling it on my back. It don't weigh more than sixty pounds.'
Ken shook his head.
'It's too far, old chap. We're all of a mile from our own lines. No, I'll take the breech block off, and if you can find a good-sized stone we'll smash the rest of it enough to make it useless.'
Roy at once hove up a rock the size of his head, and raising it high in air brought it down with a shattering crash on the gun. The stout steel barrel twisted under the tremendous shock, the water jacket burst.
'That suit you?' he said.
Ken glanced at the ruins, and smiled.
'Take Krupps all their time to make that serviceable again,' he remarked, and the words were hardly out of his mouth before there came a sudden rush of feet, and Kemp, accompanied by no fewer than eight sturdy-looking Turks, came scrambling over the ridge from the right.
'Don't kill them,' shouted Kemp in Turkish. 'Don't kill them. Take them alive. Ten marks apiece to you if you take them alive.'
The men were on them instantly. There was no time to shoot. Stooping swiftly, Roy swung up the broken barrel of the quick-firer, and with a shout sprang at the Turks, whirling the weighty length of steel around his head.
In his powerful hands it was a fearful weapon. The Turks went down like ninepins. Ken, who grasped his rifle by the barrel was in no way behind his chum. The Turks had not been prepared for such a resistance. Inside ten seconds five of them were down, and the three others had had all they wanted. They ran for their lives.
Kemp had taken no part in the battle. He was standing a little aloof on the upper ground. Roy, having disposed of his assailant, whirled round and made for the man.
Kemp whipped out a repeating pistol and levelled it at his head.
'Drop that or I shoot,' he said viciously.
'No, you don't,' cried Ken.
Ken had seen the pistol in Kemp's hand, and had just had time to get his own rifle to his shoulder, the muzzle levelled full at Kemp's head.
'Drop that pistol, or I'll blow your head off,' he said curtly.
Kemp's lips parted in a snarl, showing his white teeth. For a moment it looked as though he would shoot Roy and take his chances.
But his pluck was not quite equal to it, and the grim, determined look on Ken's face daunted him. With a muttered oath, he dropped the pistol.
'And a very pretty toy, too!' said Roy, springing forward and picking it up. 'A nice new automatic, Roy. We'll keep that as spoils of war.'
'Don't waste time over the pistol,' said Ken sharply. 'Collar the chap himself. He'll be better worth bringing back than a cart load of pistols.'
In an instant Roy's great arms were round Kemp, and lifting him clean off his feet he popped him down in front of Ken.
'Tie him,' said Ken.
'I am an officer,' said Kemp haughtily. 'I will not be bound like a common criminal.'
'You were an English ship's steward when I last saw you,' Ken retorted. 'And engaged in the charming occupation of signalling out of the bathroom port to an enemy submarine.'
It was evidently no news to Kemp that Kenneth Carrington was his adversary of the bathroom. Dark as it had been, he must somehow have recognised him. He glared back defiantly.
'I was serving my country,' he answered with a lofty air.
'And what do you think would have happened to a Britisher who had been caught on a German ship, engaged in an act of such abominable treachery?' returned Ken hotly.
Kemp merely shrugged his shoulders.
'Well, it's not for me to deal with you,' said Ken. 'We'll take him back, Roy, and he'll stand a proper court-martial. Still, as he calls himself an officer, I suppose I must take his parole.'
'Do you give it?' he demanded of Kemp.
Kemp's sallow face had gone white, but whether from fear or rage was doubtful. 'Yes,' he said in a low voice, 'I give my parole.'
They turned, and with Kemp between them, set out at a sharp pace in the direction from which they had come.
From the distance rifles still snapped, and a couple of miles away to the south-west field-guns were booming. But all around was strangely quiet. Ken began to feel a trifle uneasy. He realised that they had got a long way ahead of their comrades, and that the latter had already been recalled.
'Quite nice and peaceful up here, eh, Ken?' said Roy with his cheerful grin.
Before Ken could reply there came a shot from somewhere quite close at hand, and with a sharp cry Ken dropped his rifle.
'Winged, old chap?' said Roy, turning quickly.
As he did so Kemp made a dash, and hurled himself up the slope to the left.
'Never mind me!' cried Ken. 'Catch Kemp. Shoot him. Stop him anyhow.'
Roy flung up his rifle and took a snap shot.
He missed, and before he could pull the trigger a second time, the ex-steward had dived like a weasel into a clump of scrub and was gone.
Roy dashed up the bank in hot pursuit. The moment he showed himself a regular volley of rifle shots rang out, and spinning round he sprang back into the hollow.
'There's about twenty Turks coming hard up the next gully,' he panted. 'We've got to bunk like blazes if we want to save our skins.'
Ken was standing, looking half dazed. His rifle was on the ground, and he was holding his left arm with his right hand.
'Are you hurt, Ken?' asked Roy, and there was real concern in his voice. The two had known one another less than a week, yet each had come to respect and like the other.
'No. I'm not hit. The bullet struck the barrel of my rifle. It numbed my arm for the moment. I'm quite all right, but my rifle's done for, so far as firing goes. Rotten luck, losing Kemp.'
'Never mind Kemp,' said Roy, serious for once. 'These Turkish Johnnies are between us and home. And they're after us. It'll take us all our time to get clear. Which way are we to go?'
As he spoke a shout came from the next gully. It was Kemp's voice, and he was evidently calling his men up to pursue the two Britishers.
Ken glanced round quickly. He saw at once that it was out of the question to make straight back for their own lines. They would be cut off for a dead certainty. The two other alternatives were to make off to the right or to go straight back up the gully.
But going to the right meant that they would have to climb the right-hand wall of the gully, which was much steeper and higher than that to the left. The result would be that they would be exposed against the sky line to the enemy's fire.
All this flashed through his mind in a couple of seconds, and he instantly took his decision.
'We must go back up the gully, Roy,' he said sharply. 'It's absolutely our only chance.'
'Any way, so long as we don't drop into the clutches of that swine Kemp,' said Roy. 'I fancy I see him giving us any parole.'
He whipped round as he spoke, and the two set to running steadily up the gully. As they passed the scene of their late encounter where the bodies of the dead Turks lay by the broken machine gun, Ken stooped quickly and picked up one of their rifles, and helped himself also to a bandolier of cartridges.
This caused only a few seconds delay, yet before they were under way again, there came a crackle of shots from below, and bullets whizzed uncomfortably close about their ears.
Luckily for them, a few yards farther up was a bend in the course of the ravine, and once round that they were safe for the moment.
Safe for the moment—yes—but the prospect before them was not exactly inviting, and Ken's lips tightened as he and Roy strained onwards up the hill-side, which grew steeper with every yard.
They were going straight away from their own people, right into the heart of the enemy country, and rack his brains as he might, Ken could see no plan for getting back. There was nothing for it but to try to shake off their pursuers and trust to chance for the rest.
Neither of them was very fresh, for they had been fighting and running for the better part of two hours. Even so, they managed to keep ahead of the Turks, and though every now and then a few shots came rattling up from below they had got far enough ahead to be out of easy range.
They were now at a considerable height, but still a long way from the top of the hill. The scrub was thinning out and the ground becoming more and more stony. The worst of it was that the ravine up which they were travelling was getting steadily more shallow. A very little farther, and it ended altogether. Beyond, was nothing but bare hill-side, where they would—barring the scattered rocks—be in full view of the enemy.
Ken dropped to a walk.
'This won't do, Roy. Once we're out in the open, we shall be the very finest kind of targets.'
Roy shrugged his great shoulders.
'There's nothing else for it. We can't make a ravine. What price taking up a position here behind these rocks and trying to fight 'em off? We've got plenty of cartridges.'
Ken shook his head.
'No earthly use. They could get round above us. We shouldn't have a dog's chance.'
'Then we'd best shift on topside,' replied Roy coolly. 'They can't get above us there unless they raise a balloon. Come on, old man, we can dodge in and out among these rocks.'
Ken glanced back down the hill. Already the first of their pursuers were in sight round the curve of the ravine, barely three hundred yards away. They were jogging along quite steadily. It was clear that they felt absolutely sure of their men—so sure that there was no need to hurry. Kemp, conspicuous in his ugly German khaki, was shepherding them upwards.
Ken bit his lip. Inwardly he vowed that he would never be taken alive by the ex-steward. He had a pretty shrewd idea of what his fate and Roy's would be if they fell into Kemp's clutches.
'Come on, then,' he said desperately, and springing up over the shallow bank of the ravine made a rush for the spot where the rocks seemed to be thickest.
A shout from below told them that their manoeuvre was observed.
'They're spreading out,' said Roy, looking back over his shoulder.
'They're not shooting, anyhow,' answered Ken, as, bent double, he ran hard alongside his companion.
'I suppose they think they've got us anyhow,' said Roy. 'Ken, I'd give a lot to disappoint the dear Kemp.'
Up and up they went, bearing a little to the right because it was on that side that the stones lay thickest. They were still both going strong, and were, if anything, increasing the distance between themselves and their pursuers. A little spark of hope began to dawn in Ken's breast. It seemed just possible that they might still outrun the slower-going Turks, and crossing the ridge, find shelter in the valley below. There was one point in their favour. The sun was dropping low in the west. It would be dark in little more than an hour.
Roy seemed to guess his thoughts.
'We'll do 'em down yet, Ken,' he said.
Almost as he spoke he pulled up short, and flung out his arm just in time to stop Ken from plunging right over the sheer edge of a tremendous gorge that gashed the face of the mountain like a slice from a giant's knife.
For an instant both stood breathing hard, staring down into the darksome depths below. Then Ken turned to Roy.
'That's why they weren't hurrying,' he said bitterly.
For once Roy seemed cooler than Ken. Throwing himself flat on his face, he wriggled forward till nearly half his body was over the edge.
'Hold my legs,' he said, and Ken, horrified at the other's rashness, obeyed.
A moment later he was on his feet again. There was a queer glimmer in his eyes.
'There's a chance yet. I've spotted a ledge. Don't count on it. I don't know whether we can reach it. But it's worth trying. Come on.'
He hurried back down the edge of the cliff for about thirty paces, then looked over again.
'Here it is. It's a goodish way down. But I've tackled places as bad in the North Island mountains. Will you risk it?'
'I'd risk anything rather than Kemp,' Ken answered curtly.
'Then I'll go first. Lie down on your face, and give me your hands. Quickly. Those beggars mustn't see us.'
Ken obeyed instantly. He knew nothing of mountaineering himself, but realised that Roy did. Without a moment's hesitation Roy turned round with his back to the ravine, and catching Ken's hands, let himself drop quietly till his long body dangled at full length against the face of the cliff.
The strain on Ken's arms was awful. The depths below made his head swim. But he set his teeth, dug his toes into the earth, and held on like grim death.
'Let go,' said Roy briefly.
To Ken it seemed as though he were dropping his friend into the awful abyss. But he obeyed without hesitation.
There was a second of ghastly suspense. Then Roy was standing on the almost invisible ledge, balancing himself, spreadeagled against the face of the rock.
His hands moved slowly, the fingers groping for a hold. He found it, and clutching tightly with his left, raised his right hand.
'My bayonet,' he said quickly.
Ken slipped it out of its socket and gave it him.
Roy took it and carefully and deliberately drove it into a crevice in the rock on a level with his head.
'Chuck the rifles over,' he said. 'You mustn't leave them.'
Ken obeyed. A hollow crash came up from the black depths.
'Now I'm ready for you,' said Roy. His voice was so cool and steady that it gave Ken some confidence. 'Get as good a grip as you can and let go when I tell you.'
For a moment it seemed to Ken that he could not do what was asked. In any matter of fighting he was Roy's equal—indeed his superior, for he was better able to keep his head in the thick of it.
But he had had no experience of heights, and the blood ran cold in his veins at the idea of dropping over this terrific precipice. It seemed to him the only possible result must be that he would knock Roy off his narrow perch, and that they would go crashing together into the yawning depths of the abyss.
'You're not scared, are you?'
The contempt in Roy's tones stung Ken to the quick. He hesitated no longer. Turning quickly, he clutched the rocky ledge and recklessly swung himself down.
'Good man! I knew you could do it. Steady now! I've got you. Let go!'
Once more Ken obeyed. He fully believed that he was going to his doom. Instead, to his intense surprise, he found himself balancing on the ledge beside Roy.
Roy gave a low laugh.
'Sorry I insulted you, old man. I just had to. I know the sort of funk that takes you the first time you try this kind of game. And I give you my word there are precious few chaps would have stuck it at all.'
'Now I'll tell you something to console you,' he continued. 'The ledge widens to my right, and runs in under a big overhang. Once we're under that, we're as safe as rats in a granary. No one can see us from up above or from anywhere else, so far as that goes.'
Ken hardly heard. It seemed as if every energy he possessed was needed just to cling where he was, flattened like a dead mole nailed on a keeper's gibbet.
Roy went on talking in a low quiet voice, which gradually brought back Ken's confidence, and though his heart was thumping, and he felt as though it was impossible to draw a full breath, he presently managed to follow his companion along the ledge.
As Roy had said, it gradually widened, and after going very carefully for a matter of twenty feet it grew broad enough to walk on with some degree of safety.
A minute later, and they were in a deep hollow—almost a cave and absolutely hidden from all inquisitive eyes.
Roy laughed softly as he dropped to a sitting position.
'Gosh, I'd love to see Kemp's face this minute,' he remarked in a low voice. 'He'll be just about fit to tie.'
Ken did not answer. He had dropped down and sat with his back against the river side of the cavity, breathing hard. His face was very white, and big drops of perspiration beaded his forehead.
Roy glanced at him with some anxiety. Then he fumbled in the pocket of his tunic and brought out a small leather-covered flask.
'I've carried this ever since I left home,' he said. 'I reckoned it would come in useful some time. Take a sip of it.'
It was fine old Australian brandy, and although Ken took no more than a mouthful the effects were immediate. A tinge of colour came back to his cheeks, and his heart steadied at once.
'Proper stuff, eh?' smiled Roy, as Ken handed back the flask.
Ken held up his hand sharply. 'Listen!' he whispered.
Above their heads they heard heavy footsteps. Then came Kemp's voice.
'What's he saying?' whispered Roy.
'He's telling 'em to hunt among the rocks,' answered Ken in an equally low voice. 'He seems to be annoyed. He's using all the bad language he knows, and chucking in German swears where he can't remember the Turkish ones.'
'Must be a bit of a facer for him,' chuckled Roy.
'There's one of the Turks answering him,' said Ken. 'Says we must have jumped over to escape them.'
'Oh, that's Kemp again,' continued Ken. 'He's telling 'em to go down and see.'
'And what's the Turk say?' Roy asked eagerly.
'He says no one has ever been to the bottom, and couldn't get there if they wanted to. He calls it the ditch of Shaitan—in other words, the Devil's Dyke. By Jove, he's started Kemp cursing again. Wonderful flow of language the chap's got.'
Presently the voices above died away.
'So far as I can make out, they're going to have a try farther up the hill,' said Ken. 'It's lucky they didn't think of looking for our tracks. If they'd used their eyes they must have seen the place where we got over. I know I dug my toes in a good two inches when I was hanging on to you.'
Roy grinned.
'Thank goodness, tracking is about the last thing that would occur to a German. All the same, Kemp is quite cute enough to leave a guard posted here to watch for us.'
Ken looked rather startled.
'I hadn't thought of that, but it's very likely. Then it looks as if we should have to stay here all night.'
'I'd made up my mind to that already,' Roy answered. 'But it might be worse. We've got shelter and we're absolutely safe. Also we have our emergency rations, so we shan't starve. We ought to get a decent sleep for once in a way.'
'What—sleep on the edge of this precipice!'
'Why not? I've slept in worse places before now.'
'Supposing one rolled over in one's sleep?' said Ken with a slight shiver as he peered over into the awesome depths below.
Roy laughed softly.
'Don't worry. You shall sleep between me and the rock. It'll take you all your time to roll over me.'
The sun was down, darkness was already shrouding the depths of space beneath them. The Turks seemed to have left. At any rate, Ken and Roy could hear no more of them. The evening silence was broken only by the mysterious whisper of the evening breeze as it stole down the cañon, and by a faint and distant popping of rifle shots.
Roy stretched his long legs and yawned.
'I'm for supper,' he observed, as he took his iron ration out of his haversack. 'We'll share this to-night, Ken, and breakfast off yours in the morning. Luckily I've still got some water in my bottle.'
The emergency or iron ration consists mainly of concentrated beef, biscuit, and chocolate. There is not much of it, so far as bulk goes, but it is very sustaining. Roy carefully divided his into two lots, and they ate slowly, and finished their slim repast with a drink of water.
Then, after chatting a while, they stretched themselves out to sleep. Roy, according to his promise, made Ken take the inner side, and in spite of his nervousness, he slept like a log.
Ken roused at earliest dawn. A thin mist floated beneath them, hiding the depths of the ravine. Musketry still crackled in the distance, but all around was very still.
Ken shivered slightly, for the morning air bit chill. He sat up and shook Roy, who was still sleeping peacefully.
'Daylight,' said Ken briefly. 'Time to get out of this.'
Roy sat up and stretched his great frame.
'What a life!' he said with a laugh. 'Yes, I suppose we'd best be shifting.'
'Shall we breakfast now, or wait till we get up topside?' asked Ken.
Roy gave him a quick look.
'It might be as well to feed now,' he said quietly. 'You see, I haven't a notion how we're going to get out of this.'
Ken stared. Such a point of view had never occurred to him. He had such implicit faith in Roy's mountaineering capacity that he had taken it absolutely for granted that Roy could find a way back to firm ground.
Roy saw Ken's dismay.
'Sorry, old chap,' he said simply. 'I thought you understood.'
Ken smiled back.
'I'm afraid I took it for granted that you had it all pat. You see, I don't know the first thing about mountaineering myself. Can't we get back the same way we came?'
Roy shook his head.
'It's too big a reach. But don't worry. We'll find some way out. Stop here a minute and I'll go and have a squint round.'
Ken looked at him.
'You'll be careful, Roy? Hadn't I better come and give you a hand?'
'I'll call you if I want you,' said Roy. 'I'm going to see where this ledge leads.'
He strolled off as calmly as though walking along a twelve-inch ledge over a two hundred foot drop was as simple as a promenade down the sunny side of Piccadilly. Ken, feeling anything but happy, watched him until he was hidden behind a shoulder of rock.
It was quite five minutes before he came back.
'It's all right,' he said cheerfully. 'True, we can't get up, but I think we can get down. This ledge drops a long way, and there seems to be another below it. Let's have our grub and go along.'
He ate his share of Ken's rations with evident appetite, and Ken did his best to follow his example. But it would be idle to say that Ken felt happy. Glancing down into the tremendous depths that yawned below, he felt that he would infinitely rather charge a score of Turks, single-handed, than try to make his way down the face of the gigantic wall of rock.
Roy finished his food, brushed the crumbs from his tunic, and taking the bayonet which—with the automatic pistol captured from Kemp—were the only weapons they had, walked off along the ledge.
Ken set his teeth and followed.
'Look up, not down,' said Roy quietly, and Ken did his best to obey.
The ledge, though narrow, did not really present any particular difficulties. As Roy said, 'If it wasn't for the big drop below, you wouldn't think twice about it.'
Ken knew this was true, and tried hard to keep it in his mind.
Presently, however, the ledge began to narrow again, and the only way to tackle it was to flatten themselves, limpet-like, against the cliff face, and claw their way onwards, gripping every possible little projection which gave any sort of hand hold.
At last Roy pulled up.
'Capital!' he said. 'You're doing first-rate, Ken. That's as far as we can go on this ledge. We've got to drop to the lower one now. Don't worry. It's not as bad as that first drop we had to do last night.'
As he spoke, he stooped, gripped the edge of the ledge with his hands, and let himself down gently. There was a knob of rock about seven feet down. He got his feet on this, then reached up for the bayonet which Ken held.
As before, he jammed this into a crevice so as to give himself something to hold by, then signalled Ken to follow.
Ken's heart was in his mouth. The projection seemed hardly large enough for one pair of feet, let alone two. But when he reached it he found that Roy had left it all for him. He himself had stepped off, driving his toes into a mere crevice alongside.
'Keep hold of the bayonet till I tell you to move,' came Roy's quiet voice. 'Afraid we'll have to leave it where it is. We can't shift it again. That's right.'
'Now get your fingers into that crack to the right. I'm going to move your feet for you.'
What Roy was doing Ken could not tell, and he dared not look. But a moment later he felt the big fellow's hands shifting his feet.
There came a sharp rattle of falling stones, a quick gasp.
A spasm of fright clutched him. For the moment he fully believed that Roy had fallen.
'Roy! he cried sharply. 'Roy!'
'All right, old man. It's quite all right. Just a chunk of rock broken out. The stuff's a bit rotten, but I've got good hand hold.'
A pause. Then, 'Now you can move.'
Again Roy's strong hands shifted his feet. Twice more this happened; then just as he began to feel that he could stand the strain no longer, he heard Roy's jolly laugh.
'We've done it. One step more, and you're on the ledge.'
A moment later, and they stood together on a ledge nearly a yard wide. It seemed like a turnpike road compared to the one above.