“You have missed, Englishman,” Fritz says raspingly. “Why do not you shoot to kill?”
“Could have been you that had missed the shot,” Jack says anxiously.
The deadly volleys of the three refugees here on the top of the dune bring confusion in the ranks of the advancing men. They stop dead in their tracks, which is a mistake because Teuns and the other let fly with three more volleys. This time nobody misses, and every bullet hits its target. The next moment, the Arabs and the deserters are out of their saddles and flat on the ground.
“Jack, keep shooting… Fritz and I are riding on. We will stop a little way off and give you cover till you join us,” says Teuns. He and Fritz jump in the saddled and ride on. They cannot coax the tired animals into anything more than a short trot.
“How far
