But to fire at a rapidly-moving object, even when coming directly at one, is no easy matter, particularly when a long, cruel-looking shaft, armed with a glittering spear-point, is held directed at one's chest. It takes nerve and coolness to make a careful shot, and it takes real courage to ride on towards that shot, knowing that it must reach its mark sooner than the lance can find its home in the enemy's breast. All honour therefore to the two gallant Cossacks who still were left. Without a pull at their reins, and without so much as a shadow of hesitation, they charged the harrier. All three rifles spoke out, and next moment with a crash one of the lances met the piled-up boxes, and, unable to throw them on one side owing to their weight, or pierce the thick woodwork, shivered into a thousand splinters, while the brave Russian who held it glared savagely at Phil, and making an ineffectual effort to draw a pistol, groaned and fell lifeless from his saddle with an ugly wound gaping in his neck. The other Cossack was more successful. Dropping the point of his lance, he charged full at Sam, and escaping his bullet by a miracle, pinned him to the ground by a thrust through the shoulder. "Bayonets! Come along, Tony!" shouted Phil, and without waiting to see if he were followed, he dashed over the wall, and flung himself upon the Russian, with his drawn bayonet in his hand. It was a narrow shave for him, for a pistol exploded almost in his face, and carried his bearskin away. Next second he had thrust his weapon through his opponent's body, and dragged him from his pony. "Give a hand here, corporal," sang out Sam at this moment. "This beast of a spear holds me so tight I can't move. I feel just like a butterfly pinned to a board." "Half a minute, Sam. Now, hold on," cried Tony, grasping the spear. Then, with, a sudden tug he wrenched it from the ground. "My eye, don't it hurt!" groaned poor Sam, suddenly becoming pale. "Go easy with it, mate. Let the corporal have a turn." Phil crept under the wagon, and finding the spear protruding almost a foot on the other side of the shoulder, pulled out his clasp-knife, and opening a small saw, which was a special feature of it, proceeded to cut the point off. That done, he grasped the shaft and gently pulled it from the wound. "Come and help here, Tony," he cried. "But--wait a minute. Have a good look round first of all, and tell me if you can see any more of those fellows." Tony climbed on top of the cart, and gazed all round. "Not a single one of 'em in sight," he cried; "but they'll be here soon, you may be sure." "Then come and give a hand here with Sam," answered Phil, pulling out his handkerchief. "I want a pad of linen or something." "Here's the very thing, Phil;" and, pulling his bearskin off, Tony produced a large woollen muffler.