CHAPTER THREE.
CUTTING IT CLOSE.
My messmate uttered these words close to my ears in a despairing tone as we dashed on, and now I saw Ching strike to his right, while I made a cut or two at my left, as men started from the sides and tried to trip us up.
I was growing faint with the heat down in that narrow, breathless street, my clothes stuck to me, and Barkins' heavy telescope banged heavily against my side, making me feel ready to unfasten the strap and let it fall.

But I kept on for another fifty yards or so with our enemies yelling in the rear, and the waterside seeming to grow no nearer.
"Keep together, lads," cried Barkins excitedly.

"It can't be far now.
We'll seize the first boat we come to, and the tide will soon take us out of their reach." But these words came in a broken, spasmodic way, for, poor fellow, he was as out of breath as any of us.
"Hoolay! Velly lit' way now," cried Ching; and then he finished with a howl of rage, for half-a-dozen armed men suddenly appeared from a gateway below us, and we saw at a glance that they were about to take sides with the rest.
"Lun--lun," yelled Ching, and, flourishing his sword, he led us right at the newcomers, who, startled and astounded by our apparent boldness, gave way, and we panted on, utterly exhausted, for another fifty yards, till Ching suddenly stopped in an angle of the street formed by a projecting house.
"No lun.

No, no!" he panted.

"Fight--kill." Following his example, we faced round, and our bold front checked the miserable gang of wretches, who stopped short a dozen yards from us, their numbers swelled by the new party, and waited yelling and howling behind the swordsmen, who stood drawing up their sleeves, and brandishing their heavy weapons, working themselves up for the final rush, in which I knew we should be hacked to pieces.
"Good-bye, old chap," whispered Barkins in a piteous tone, his voice coming in sobs of exhaustion.