"Follow these men," commanded Gray sternly. "See that they continue to flee." Motioning to the other Kirghiz, he trotted back across the ridge to the further side. Here he was met with a scattering fire which kicked up some dust, but caused no damage. The Chinese on this side of the white men's stronghold had learned the fate of their fellows and did not await the coming of the "gun of many tongues." Gray saw a half dozen figures melting into the dunes, and emptied the automatic at them, firing at a venture. He thought at least one of his shots had taken effect. Pressing forward, he and the Kirghiz --who had gained enormous confidence from the display of the automatic--drove their assailants for some distance. When the Chinese had passed out of sight, Gray hurried back to the knoll. There he found Sir Lionel seated with his back against the roll of canvas with the excited Kirghiz. "The coast seems to be clear," observed Gray. "We can set out----" The Englishman coughed, and tried to smile. "I stay here, I'm afraid," he objected. "It's my rotten luck, Captain Gray. One of the beggars potted me in that last volley. A chance shot." He motioned to his chest, where he had opened the shirt. The cloth was torn by the bullet. "Touched the lung, you know"--again he coughed, and spat blood--"badly." Gray made a hasty examination of the wound. It was bleeding little outwardly; but internal bleeding had set in. "We'll have to get you back to Ansichow," he said with forced cheerfulness. "A mule litter and one of the Kirghiz will do the trick." "No, it won't, old man." Sir Lionel shook his head. "I'd never get there. One day's travel would do me up. I'll stick--here." Mirai Khan, who had rejoined the party, drew his companions aside and talked with them earnestly. Gray did what he could to make the Englishman comfortable. Assisted by the hunters, who worked reluctantly, he had the tent pitched, and laid the wounded man on a blanket, where he was protected by the canvas from the sun. This done, he filled and lighted his pipe and sat beside his friend, smoking moodily. "You'll find a cigarette in my shirt pocket," said Sir Lionel quietly. "Will you light it for me? I've enough lung--to smoke, and----" he cleared his throat with difficulty. "Thanks a lot. I've something to say to you. Won't take--a minute. Fever's set in. Must talk. Last message, you know." He smiled with strained lips. "Strange," he added. "Thought it only happened--in books." Gray watched the shadows crawling across the knoll, and frowned. Sir Lionel, he knew, could not survive another day. With the death of his friend, he would be alone. And he must find Mary Hastings. He wondered what the Englishman wished to tell him.