"Fire!" cried Jack, and the swift trill of rifle-cracks rang out on the soft evening silence. As swiftly as they could press finger on trigger, the three comrades emptied their magazines completely into the fringe of forest three hundred yards away. This storm of tiny, whirling slips of lead struck among the dacoits at point blank range, and, by the screams and yells of the banditti, did much execution. The watchers distinctly saw three or four fall, but these were swiftly dragged among the trees by their comrades, and for a moment not a single dacoit was to be seen. Then, just inside the shelter of the trees, five figures were observed very busy placing a new _jingal_ in position. At a glance the besieged saw that the gun was much larger than the first, and would throw a heavier ball. "We shall have to pick off those fellows at work with the new gun," said Jack. "Perhaps that will terrify them into flight." "I hope so," said Jim, but there was not much hope in his voice. "The worst of these little chaps is that they never know when they're beaten. They'll give their lives to get yours, as cheerfully as possible." "And they don't set any high value on their lives, either," chimed in Buck. "Whoever's runnin' the show over there, he'll spend his men's blood like water for the chance o' catchin' us and puttin' us to death as slowly as he can make the time spin out." "Slowly? Killing us slowly, Buck?" said Jack. "What do you mean?" "Torture," replied Buck, and the one dreadful word was answer enough. Crack! It was Jim's Mannlicher which spoke, but the bullet missed its aim. The dacoits at work about the big _jingal_ had artfully placed the weapon so that its mouth pointed from between two close-growing teak saplings, and the trees formed a safe cover for the gunners. "I thought I could pick one of 'em off that time," remarked Jim, "but I believe I only hit a tree after all." At this instant a figure was seen for a moment behind the long gun. A dacoit stepped into view, crouched down, and carefully trained the piece. There was a second crack, and the freebooter dropped under the _jingal_ and never moved. Jack had fired and sent a Mannlicher bullet through the dacoit's brain. "I say, you can shoot a bit," cried Jim Dent admiringly, and Buck chuckled. "I guess he can, Jim. He put on a very pretty string o' bull's-eyes at Bisley, shootin' in the competition for public schools. The Professor grinned all over his face when he read how Jack headed the list with a highest possible."