"And a-callin' of 'em to 'ack Mr. Dicky Hamshaw to pieces," growled Hawkins, adjusting his sights on the figure. "This 'ere's for an 'eathen--a black-'earted 'eathen!" His weapon snapped, there was a loud thud as the bullet struck the rock behind which the chief was standing, and then a shout from Mr. Andrew. "They're off! They're charging!" he cried. "Make way! Now, drop her a trifle, sir," called Sergeant Evans, who had posted himself at one of the windows. "That will do. Stop her. Now watch." He tossed something from the airship and craned his head as far as was possible. As for Hawkins and the rest of the crew, they fired madly down upon the enemy. For those five hundred figures, partly hidden some few seconds earlier, were now in the open. They were rushing together across the two hundred yards of barren ground which alone separated them from the forlorn Gurkhas. In half-dozens, in clusters of ten and more, in ones and twos and threes, with streaming banners, with waving arms and whirling knives and tulwars, they were descending upon Dick and his gallant comrades as a whirlwind, a human avalanche which would overwhelm them. It made Andrew positively ill with fear of the consequences. He shut his eyes tightly and gripped the frame of the window. As for Joe, he darted towards the engine-room, with the mad, half-formed idea of sending the ship plunging downward, charging that charging host, in fact. Even Hawkins forgot to use his weapon any longer. Sergeant Evans alone retained perfect coolness. "Another second," he shouted to them, "one little second, and then----" The answer came before he had finished speaking. The head of that charging column was suddenly enveloped in a blinding flash, a flash the brilliance of which dimmed the rays from the ship's lamp. Those whirling Pathans melted, as it were, were swept aside, were blown out of sight by a terrific explosion. Even those in the airship above felt a portion of the concussion, while the vast ship itself trembled and swayed ominously. "What is that? We are hit with a shell! We are falling!" The stout figure of Carl Reitberg appeared at his cabin door, clutching at it convulsively. But not one took the smallest notice of him, save Andrew, who turned and bade him curtly to be silent. "A few feet ahead, sir," called Sergeant Evans. "Now, that'll stop 'em."