The man who had fired was still reloading his gun, and Raymond jumped out from behind the rock to a place where he was still protected by the jutting spur from the man across the ravine, and announced,-- “I’m going to fire at him before he finishes loading, but I’ll shoot into the ground about two thirds of the way out, so he’ll think my gun won’t carry any farther.” Raymond fired and his bullet threw up the dirt far short of the advancing bandit. They imagined that they could see a smile of derision on the man’s face. At that moment the other man fired from across the ravine, and again the boys were shown that only a position behind the rocks would protect them from such expert shooting. Steadily the two men came down the ravine, firing occasionally. As the boys were safe hidden behind the rocks, and could not be reached by a bullet from either direction, they concluded that the bandits were firing merely to prevent a sally on their part. Why they should do that, however, the boys could not understand, for it would have seemed to be better to encourage them to expose themselves; especially as there seemed to be no fear of the one small gun in the boys’ possession. Every shot, apparently, was placed with precision, for every one entered on a line that was nearest to the boys’ shelter. _Spat! spat!_ they came, first from one side and then from the other. Not very rapidly, for there was always necessarily a pause for reloading. Steadily the bandits advanced, until they were less than two hundred yards from the cove. And they were still perfectly indifferent to any danger they might be in from Raymond’s gun. Such a steady, relentless advance began to fill the boys with panic. They felt as though an inexorable fate were closing in on them. “I can’t stand this much longer, Sid.” And Raymond’s face was pale with the nervous strain. “I feel as though I were being killed by inches.” “Do you think your pistol would reach them now?” “I’m sure of it, but I am not sure that I have the nerve to stand out and shoot them.” “I believe our only chance for salvation is to kill those men, Ray. I thought at first we might frighten them, but they’re not the kind to be frightened. I would be willing to take the responsibility of shooting them, but I can’t shoot so close as you can, and I might miss, and a miss would be the end of us.” “I’m not afraid of missing,” said Raymond, “but it makes me sick to think of potting them like rats.” Still the advance continued, with an occasional shot. By that time the men were so close that their features could be plainly distinguished, and the boys were surprised to see that the bandits were white as themselves. The mountain tribes of Central Daghestan, the Lesghians, are a conglomerate race. There are many tribes, of many different origins, and some of them have very fair skin.