“There was nothing in my orders, sir, about--” But Colonel Carter cut him short with a motion and turned his back on him. “Much obliged, Sergeant,” he said, slipping his wounded arm into an improvised sling. “How many wagons have we here?” “Four, sir.” “And horses?” “All shot dead except your charger, sir.” “Oh! Ask Captain Trevor to come here.” The sergeant disappeared into the shadows, and a moment later Captain Trevor came running up and saluted. “There are seven wounded, sir, and nineteen dead,” he reported. “Better than I had hoped, Trevor! Will you set a train to that magazine, please, and blow it up the moment we are at a safe distance?” Trevor seemed surprised, but he saluted and said nothing. “O'Rourke! Please see about burying the dead at once. Mr. Bellairs, let me have two horses, please, and their drivers, from each gun. Sergeant! See about putting the wounded into the lightest of the wagons and harness in four gun-horses the best way you can manage.” “Very good, sir.” “Which is your best horseman, Mr. Bellairs? Is his horse comparatively fresh? I'll need him to gallop with a message. I'll dictate it to Captain O'Rourke as soon as he is ready. Let the gunner stay here close to me.” Bellairs sought out his best man and the freshest-seeming horse in wondering silence. He felt sick with anxiety, for what could one lone veteran Risaldar do to protect Mrs. Bellairs against such a horde as was in Hanadra? He looked at the barracks, which were still blazing heavenward and illuminating the whole country-side, and shuddered as he wondered whether his quarters at Hanadra were in flames yet. “It's a good job old Carter happened to be here!” he heard one of his men mumble to another. “He's a man, that is--I'd sooner fight under him than any I know of!” “What d'you suppose the next move is?” asked the other man. “I'd bet on it! I'll bet you what you like that--” But Bellairs did not hear the rest. A bugle rang out into the night. The gunners stood by their horses. Even the sentries, posted outside the rampart to guard against alarm, stood to attention, and Colonel Carter, wincing from the pain in his right arm, walked out in front of where the men were lined up. Captain O'Rourke walked up and saluted him. “I've arranged to bury them in that trench we dug this evening, sir, when the trouble started. It's not very deep, but it holds them all. I've laid them in it.” “Are you sure they're all dead?” “I've burnt their fingers with matches, sir. I don't know of any better way to make sure.” “Very well. Can you remember any of the burial service?” “'Fraid not, sir.” “Um! That's a pity. And I'm afraid I can't spare the time. Take a firing-party, Captain O'Rourke, and give them the last honors, at all events.” A party marched away toward the trench, and several minutes later O'Rourke's voice was heard calling through the darkness, “All ready, sir!”