While the soldiers of all arms were thus busily engaged, a body of sailors was ordered to run one of their Gardner guns up to the corner of the square where Miles and Armstrong stood. They halted close to them, and then Miles became aware that one of the nautical gunners was no other than Jack Molloy. "Hallo, Jack! Why, you've got a knack of turning up unexpectedly everywhere!" he exclaimed, when his friend was at leisure. "That's wery much your own case," retorted the seaman heartily. "What brought _you_ here?" Miles slapped one of his legs by way of indicating the mode of conveyance. "Ay, lad, and they'd need to be stout timbers too, to make headway through such a sea of sand," returned Molloy, feeling his own limbs with tenderness. "D'ee think we're in for a brush to-night, lad?" Before the latter could reply, an aide-de-camp ran up and spoke a few hurried words to Captain Lacey, who turned to his company and called them to attention. "Fours, right--quick march!" he said, and away they went, past the flank of Hudson's men, to guard a hollow which left that part of the square somewhat exposed. When halted and drawn up in line several files were thrown out in advance. Miles and Sutherland formed the flanking file on the right, the latter being rear-rank man to the former. "It's a grand hiding-hole," observed Sutherland, as he peered cautiously over the edge of a low bank into a hollow where rocks and undergrowth were thickly intermingled. "Keep a sharp look-out on your left, Sutherland," said Miles, "I will guard the right--" He stopped abruptly and threw forward his rifle, for at that moment he observed a swarthy, black-bearded Arab, of large proportions and muscular frame, creeping forward a short distance below him. Evidently he had not heard or seen the approach of the two soldiers, for he was gazing in a different direction from them. Miles raised his rifle and took aim at the man, but he felt an unconquerable repugnance to shoot. He had never yet met the enemy hand-to-hand. His experience heretofore had been confined to long-range firing at men who were firing at himself and his comrades, and in which, of course, he could not be sure that his bullets took effect. But now he was within fifty yards of a splendid-looking man who did not see him, who was, at the moment, innocent of any intention of injuring him, and whose expressive side-face he could clearly distinguish as he crept along with great caution towards a rock which hid the zereba of the Europeans from his view. Miles was a good rifle-shot. A touch of the trigger he knew would be certain death to the Arab. "I _cannot_ do it!" he muttered, as he lowered his weapon and looked back over his shoulder at his comrade. The Scot, who was something of a naturalist, was engrossed at the moment in the contemplation of a little bird which was twittering on a twig in quite an opposite direction.