He had dropped behind John and Firoz, who, not noting his fall, came flying across, untouched. The engineer tried to crawl on to the bridge amid the hail of arrows. But Forsyth, running like a greyhound, was out and over the gulf before we even realized what he was doing. Stopping, stooping, and turning all at once, he started back with the engineer--a light wiry man--in his arms. With great long strides he raced back over the bridge, and, unscathed, laid the wounded man down under cover just ahead of us. Our men cheered him like mad as he returned, for the Sakae prize personal courage above all things in the world. Certainly Ziné would have no cause to worry about the way her favour had been borne. Almost as he reached us there was a great sheet of red flame in front, a hot breath, a jar like a blow in the face, and a thunderous roar as the fort gate and the surrounding walls vanished in a dense cloud of thick white smoke, and Henga and his company--Forsyth in the van--swept across the bridge, axe and sword and spear-point gleaming in the morning light. With them went John, followed by Firoz to see if the powder had done its work. But as the smoke cleared with it went our doubts. One of the great iron-bound wings of the door had clean vanished, while the other hung drunkenly from its shattered hinges, and in the dark gap we could see the last of Henga’s men crowding into the defences. A moment later Andros’s bugles sang to the assault, and his men poured over the bridge in an unceasing stream of close-packed ranks. We watched them crush through the shattered gateway, while on the walls above we saw Henga’s men fighting their way back, clearing the parapets on either side to secure the entrance passage. It was light enough for glasses now, and once I made out on the right-hand wall Alec’s tall figure, pistol and sword in hand, forcing his way into the Shamans, blade and axe awhirl about him where Henga’s stout Sakae settled outstanding scores of raid and rapine of years past. The enemy were pressed back and ever back, until the walls were clear of them right down to the bridgehead, and the arrows ceased to whiz down about us. A little later, riding with Kyrlos, I passed up through the narrow passage, strewn, alas! with men of ours, in through the broken, blackened gates, up the steep entry-way, and so into the rabbit-warren of Shamantown, littered with stark corpses and dying men, desolate broken house-doors, and wailing, dishevelled Shaman women, and once or twice a drawn-visaged Sakae woman--prize of some past raid--shrilling her glad pæan of hate at the retribution that had come at last.