‘Torin he just sat up and purred, and then when the devils began to come on, he took that fallen sentry by the legs, and got a wiggle on him, and went for them into the thick; and he swung the poor devil round and round and cleared that crowd like fury--’peared they didn’t understand the game. He laid out three of them, and then they scattered and drew back; I dropped another with the other pistol, and Kinjan charged right down on the old chief, and bowled him over with the butt-end of his spear. “’Tis all over, bhoys,” he said, and sat on the old gentleman; and so it was. When they saw the tail-ends of their boss waving in the air, the rest of them made tracks. In the intervals of sticking the business end of his spear into things, Kinjan had cut loose all their horses but four or five, and there was a beautiful scrimmage over those sand hillocks, men and horses all mixed, and travelling in most directions like fury. That was a vūrry tidy dodge of Torin’s,--maybe it was rough on the sentry, but it was vūrry impressive--some of the impressions might have been a foot long, I should judge.’ He paused; the train had stopped with a jerk at a station, and the engine was blowing off steam with a disturbing energy. ‘Durn the durned thing,’ said Mr Denver; but presently he resumed, as we droned on again. ‘We--ell,’ and there was an alarming touch of boredom in his tone, ‘after we’d tied the old boy, we had a quiet time, doctoring up those we’d stretched, as best we could, and figuring out what was to be done. Kinjan and I palavered over the chances, but Torin didn’t seem to care what we did, and seemed sort of disgusted with the whole affair. He stood leaning on a spear by the horses, and once I heard him mutter, “Damn! shan’t get such a chance again.” I judged he would have let himself be killed like a sheep, but the fighting instinct was too strong for him; he was as sulky as he could be, but he did what he was told, which was the main thing. I was for riding along the coast and trying to make Mogador, but Kinjan over-persuaded me that a bold course was the best thing; he wanted to go right there for the city. “We’ve got the weapons, clothes, horses, and a goide, but we’ve got nothing to dhrink,” he said, “and ut would be unbecomin’ of us if we lift the neighbourhood without dhroppin’ a cyard.” He took great pleasure in dressing us up in clothes taken from the deceased, and fussed around like a seven-year-old going to a party--the little devil had lots of sand; he said the great thing was to get _into_ the city, and to do that we must throw in plenty of style.