"Courage, men of the Dagomba," sounded Kona's voice above the din. "Sweep these vermin from our path. Let not a single man escape; but let them all be swallowed by the Sand-God." "We will eat them up," cried half-a-dozen voices in response. "Our spears shall seek their vitals." "Guard against their onward rush," cried Omar. "They will seek to throw us off the path by a dash forward. Thwart them, and victory is ours." Ere these words had left our leader's lips, the air was again filled by the wild clamours of my dark companions, and as we had halted just at a point where we would be compelled to turn at right angles, we remained there in order to attack the Arabs as they advanced. The sun's glow had faded, dark clouds had come up on the mystic line where sand and sky united, and dusk was creeping on apace when the enemy, sweeping forward, shouting and gesticulating, came within gunshot. From their van a single flash showed for an instant, followed by the sharp crack of a musket, and a bullet whizzed past Omar, striking one of the natives a few yards away, passing through his brain and killing him instantly. A silence, deep and complete, fell for an instant upon us. In that exciting moment we knew that the fight must be fiercely contested, and that, unable to move scarcely an inch from the spot where we were standing, the struggle must be long and sanguinary. CHAPTER XV. A NATURAL GRAVE. THE single shot from our opponents was quickly replied to by myself and my companions, and we had the satisfaction of seeing half-a-dozen Arabs fall backward from the path and disappear in the soft sand. Instantly the rattle of musketry was deafening, and over my head bullets whistled unpleasantly close. The weapon with which I was armed was old-fashioned, and as I fired it time after time it grew hot, and the smoke became so thick that everything was obscured. Meanwhile fierce hand-to-hand fighting was taking place between the vanguard of the Arabs and a dozen of our men led by Omar. Fiendish yells and shouts sounded on every side as they hacked at each other with their long curved knives, each fearing to step aside lest he should be swallowed by the sand. Once or twice, as the chill night wind parted the smoke, I saw Omar and our Dagombas struggling bravely against fearful odds. Omar had cast aside his gun and, armed with a keen _jambiyah_, had engaged two tall, muscular Arabs, both of whom he succeeded in hurling from the path, gashed and bleeding, to instant death.