At the same instant the Dervishes, with difficulty restrained until now, opened fire in return.
The Maxims, and the storm of British bullets swept the wood, filling the air with a shower of falling leaves.

Gregory murmured a prayer, shut his eyes, and awaited death.
Suddenly he felt his ropes slacken and fall from him, and a voice said, "Drop on your face, master!" Almost mechanically he obeyed, too astonished even to think what was happening; then a body fell across him.
"Lie still and don't move, master.

They must think you are dead." "Is it you, Zaki ?" Gregory said, scarcely able, even now, to believe that it was his faithful follower.
"It is I, master.

I have been in the camp three days, and have never had a chance of getting near you, before." "Brave fellow! good friend!" Gregory said, and then was silent.
Speech was almost inaudible, amid the roar of battle.

The pipes of the Camerons could, however, be heard above the din.