Then he swung his eyes over the backs of the men of the Mahrattas, who were now lying flat on the ground, digging their way into the soft gravel, seeking shelter from the Turkish enemy. Across the plain stretching before him, perhaps six hundred yards distant, were deeply dug trenches, parapeted, and manned by soldiers of the Sultan, and no doubt commanded in many cases by German officers. Farther back, and almost out of view, and dug in just as deeply and as securely as were the infantry, were guns--invisible almost, yet showing their positions every now and again by the dull-red flash which shot up above them. Geoff watched an instant, and listened to the rattle of musketry from the men stretching along the British line who were not engaged in digging but in holding down the fire of the enemy--watched those sharper red flashes in the distance, listened to the roar of British batteries, and saw a sudden blinding flash above one of those dug-in Turkish guns, and heard the splitting, thunderous report of a British shell as it got home on an enemy cannon; and then, though he watched for some few minutes, no sharp red point of light appeared above the spot, no answering report came from the gun dug into its hollow, for no doubt the British shell had put gun and crew out of action. As for bullets, they swept through the air like bees, humming and droning, splashing the sand and gravel here and there, throwing dust and stones over the soldiers lying full length and eagerly digging for shelter. They screamed and hissed past Sultan and past our hero, and between him and the officer to whom he had brought a message. They fascinated Geoff, and certainly did not frighten him in the slightest. So interested was he, in fact, with his view of the Turks--an excellent view considering he was mounted--and so taken up was he with watching those Turkish batteries and looking for the result of British shells amongst them, that he did not heed the voice of the officer he had accosted. Then a shout attracted his attention. "That will do," he heard sharply; "you are bringing fire on us with that white mount of yours, and it would be a pity to see him damaged. Get off back out of rifle-fire, or I shall have you on my hands wounded." Phit! Phit! A couple of bullets whizzed past Sultan's nose at that precise instant, and in a moment he was dancing on his hind legs, thrashing the air with those handsome fore legs of his, shaking his head, and neighing, while foam flecked his lips and soiled his beautiful arched neck. "D'you hear? Confound you, young Keith!" shouted the officer. "You'll get me shot next. Clear off, for you're drawing fire from the whole of the enemy front upon us." Crouching in his little hollow, the officer watched as the punctilious Geoff pulled Sultan to his feet again with a steady hand, and, sitting very upright--bolt upright--in fact, the position adapted for formal parades, saluted his senior.