Lipthay was in front, leading me by 6 feet; we had been lying nearest to the path. Tho was panting along at my side. My Hungarian chum was now on the dyke, but he slipped on the wet clay, and came down with a crash. Both of us jumped clear of him, and went sliding along for several paces on the slippery surface. Soon we were up to the first buffalo, which was trying to turn. Tho leaned forward, and drove his bayonet into its hind quarters. With a roar it leaped off the path, and fell with a mighty splash into the pond, the boy still clinging to its back. I heard a peal of laughter somewhere behind me. On we went again, and the next instant were at the door, in which two of the beasts were wedged. Again the _Doy's_ steel darted out, and one of the animals, with a bellow of pain, was forced through, like a cork pushed into a bottle. [Illustration: WATER BUFFALOES.] In our ears rang the yells of the natives, beseeching each other to close the way. The next instant we were through, and I saw a native heroically striving to pull away a bamboo pole, so as to let fall an inner gate; but before he could do so the rearmost buffalo, which was lumbering along in headlong flight, cannoned against him, and he was knocked sprawling. Tho had slipped in front, for we were now running in a narrow lane, where only one could pass at a time. The sides were walls of thick, sun-dried clay, in which, at irregular intervals, were little round loopholes. No one fired from them, though a few seconds had passed since the first alarm was given. Behind us came the clatter of nailed boots, and I turned to see that Lipthay, his khaki and accoutrements caked with mud, had caught up with us. He laughed and puffed as my eye caught his. Every few yards the narrow way twisted and turned. We saw nothing, but could hear the cries of alarm of the natives and the thumping gallop of the terrified buffaloes just ahead. Suddenly the _Doy_ turned off to the left, through a door in the wall, and the next instant we were in a kind of courtyard, covered with red tiles. In the middle was a guava tree in full bloom, and facing us a thatch-covered native house, with green blinds of split bamboo hanging from the roof. As we advanced one of these was lifted, and a tall, lank native, holding a Winchester at the "ready," confronted us. His hair was long, and hung over his shoulders; his eyes, still full of sleep, had a fierce, wild glare in them. We spread out and advanced towards him. "The _lu-thuong_! (headman). Opium drunk," said Tho. "Surrender to us!" The native spat at him, jerked up his weapon, fired at the _Doy_, and missed him.