The enemy had taken refuge in the houses on either side of the street, and for a while their fire made progress almost impossible. But the attackers answered with the utmost spirit, sheltering wherever they could, while some, reckless of the consequences, dashed forward, burst in the doors, and fell upon the enemy. It was a most exciting time, and there is no wonder that Owen forgot all else but the fighting. He caught sight of the brawny Highlander again, his kilt all adrift in the wind, and showing unmistakable signs of the conflict. He was charging down the street with some dozen of his comrades, while three or four of the Sepoys were with the gang. Owen could not resist the temptation. He burst from his cover and dashed after them. Shots struck the ground at his feet, kicking dust into his eyes. A man thrust a musket between the lattice of a ground-floor window and fired in his face, so that the flash singed his hair. But he hardly noticed the incident. He was whole, uninjured, and there were deeds still to be done. With a shout he joined the little party, and threw himself against the doors of a house of large size. They gave with a crash, and the men were in. With a shout they flung themselves upon the enemy and then---- "Pull yourself together, man. We're in and the place is ours. Here, take a sip." Owen sat up, giddy and confused. All he could grasp at present was the fact that Jack Simpson was beside him. Stars whirled before his eyes, the walls, the floor, the figure of an Arab and a Sepoy were strangely jumbled up with the large form of a Highlander, who lay full length, looking quietly at him, while an officer bandaged his wounded leg. There was a terrible din outside. What had happened? "Shut your eyes and hold your tongue. Now, sip that. Right, I'll get some water." Ten minutes later he was standing up, somewhat unsteadily, while Jack Simpson detailed the events which had just passed. "They fought stubbornly," he said, "and we lost fairly heavily, for this street fighting is very nasty work. However, we turned them all out, and here we are, masters of the town. The guns are getting into position to bombard the fort. Now about you, old fellow! The Highlander tells me that just as you burst into the house an Arab hit you over the head with a sponging rod, and brought you down like a ninepin. My word! You are a fellow for go and dash! I saw you in the breach and afterwards as you made your rush."