On the other side, too, hostilities seemed to have slackened, but here, whatever damage had been inflicted by the defenders they were unable to estimate with any certainty. It was evident that Mushad had chosen that the least esteemed of his followers--the black savages, to wit--should bear the brunt of the first attack, not from any lack of courage, but from sheer cold calculating economy. Their lives were worth the least to him, therefore let them bear the lion's share of the risk. And this they had assuredly done, if the black bodies which strewed the earth on their side of the breastwork were any criterion. Within, one of Somala's clansmen had been shot dead; while another, whose hand hung limp and useless, was setting his teeth as Dr Ahern was hastily bandaging the shattered wrist. "What think you, Somala?" said the doctor, looking up from this operation. "Will they leave us alone now?" "Not yet, Sidi. The best of Mushad's fighters are yonder. They have not done much fighting as yet." "If they take it into their heads to invest us, we are done for," said Haviland, "unless we can break through in the dark. Why, we have hardly enough water to last till then." "The battle will be finished before to-night," said the Arab, decidedly. "Well, when we have given Mushad as much fighting as he wants, then I suppose he'll draw off," said Oakley. "So the sooner he comes on again the better." "You cannot know much about Mushad, Sidi. He never leaves an enemy once blows have been exchanged," replied the Arab, darkly. "The battle will be decided before night. But Mushad will be slain--or--" "Or we shall. So be it, Somala. We'll do our best."