The rifle fell against Gray's wounded arm as he caught the speaker's hand in his, and raised it to his lips. "You have done more," he said; "you have healed it." For the next few moments he stood there as if holding the hand in his, though Rachel Linton had hurried away. Then he started, for he became aware that Tom Long had seen what had taken place, and was now standing leaning on his sword. But he did not speak, he only turned away, leaving Gray watching, and thinking hopefully now of the charge he had to meet. "Smithers is a gentleman," he said to himself; "they cannot shoot me for what I have not done." Then he began to wonder how the steamer had sped, and how soon they would bring back their friends. This was the more important, as he felt sure that a few such determined efforts on the Malay's part, and the little garrison must succumb. "He is a brave young fellow, that Ali," he thought, "and has managed well." Then he stood gazing out over the dark ground in front, where here and there he could make out the dimly seen form of some unfortunate combatant, who had not been carried off by his friends. It was darker now than ever, and he was silently watching for danger, when a faint rustling noise caught his ear, and he brought his piece down to the present, for undoubtedly one of the bodies lying on the dark earth was in motion, and crawling slowly towards where he stood. CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. THE END OF ALI'S MISSION. Adam Gray's finger was on the trigger of his piece, but he did not fire, though he carefully covered the figure before him, and watched attentively to make sure that it was no hallucination. He had marked that figure before; one that lay face downwards, apparently just as the man had fallen from a shot. And now the dimly seen arms had changed positions--there was no doubt of that--and the figure was crawling forward. What did it mean? Either it was a poor wounded wretch, striving hard to get relief and help, or else it was a trick on the part of a treacherous Malay, who was trying to put in force a North American Indian's tactics, and creeping forward to stab a sentry. "And so gain an entrance into the fort," thought Adam Gray. "Well, my poor wretch, you will not do it, unless both my rifle ball and bayonet should miss." Just then the figure stopped, and lay quite motionless; and again Gray hesitated, feeling sure that he must have been deceived, as he gazed now at the figure where it lay, some twenty yards away. There it was, perfectly motionless, and in that darkness Gray felt that he really could not be sure about it. After all, the figure might be lying where it had first lain. It was impossible to say. His doubts were dispelled the next moment, for the figure was once more in motion, and stopped short as the lock of the sentry's rifle clicked. "Don't shoot!" said a voice in English; "I am a friend." "If you move again, I fire!" said Gray in a low, stern voice. "Who are you?"