"I see my old peasant home," went on the dying Cossack in a voice that was scarcely audible. "Ah, I see it better than ever--ever before. My poor mother!--thank God she has long gone to her rest!--and my brother. The stream in front, and the trees all round. Hold me, Englishman! Everything is dancing and blurred before my eyes. I--I am dying. Good-bye! Think some--sometimes of the man who died for his country." The poor fellow, who had struggled into a sitting position, fell back, and Phil thought that he was dead. But he opened his eyes again, smiled, and with a sigh his spirit fled. Deeply impressed, Phil knelt by his side and offered up a short prayer. Then he rose to his feet, and, climbing on to the cart, looked round. Phit! A bullet struck the corner of one of the ammunition-boxes, and, glancing off, buried itself in the heel of his boot. "That's a close one again, Phil, old boy," laughed Tony, who seemed to enjoy the risk of being shot. "It's that fellow over there. He's just below the hill, and you can only see him by standing up on top here." This was the case. Another Cossack had ridden up, and, choosing a convenient position within range, sat upon his pony, with only his head showing above a ridge, and fired at Phil and his friends. "This won't do," muttered Phil. "If he were in sight we could make it warm for him, for our rifles carry farther. But as it is, he hits us at every shot, while we might pour volleys in his direction, and only bag him by the merest chance. There, didn't I say so?" he exclaimed, as a second bullet whirred past between himself and Tony. "Look here, Tony," he continued, "climb down behind the boxes, and fire as often as you can at the beggar. That will distract his attention." "Yes, and what game are you up to, mate?" asked Tony wonderingly. "I'm going to creep round and drive him off," Phil answered with decision. "Take my tip then and ride round, Phil. Soon as he sees you move he'll change his position, but if you're riding you'll be able to stop his game. But anyways I think the job belongs to me," he added, as if the thought that his friend would be running into greater danger had suddenly occurred to him. "You ain't the only chap as can ride, and as you're boss here, should stay in command of our fort." Phil looked at Tony sternly, and for the moment was on the point of ordering him to do as he was told. But, changing his mind, he picked up a rifle, and without a word dropped over the wall of boxes. The pony was still standing, quietly cropping the grass, and did not move when he disengaged the foot of the dead man from the stirrup. A second later he had mounted, and, picking up the reins and holding his rifle across the pommel of the saddle, nodded to Tony and cantered off. Striking away to the left he galloped to the top of the rise, only to find the Cossack spurring away from him, evidently with the intention of gaining another post from which to fire.