Diggle was not to be denied.
Desmond, who had jumped down inside the barricade when the pressure was
relieved by Bulger, could not but admire the spirit and determination of
his old enemy, though it boded ill for his own chance of escape. He was
weary; worn out by want of rest and food; almost prostrated by the
terrible heat. Looking round his little fort, he felt a tremor as he saw
that five out of his twenty-four men were more or less disabled. True,
there were now more than a dozen of the enemy in the same or a worse
plight; but they could afford their losses, and Desmond indeed wondered
why Diggle did not sacrifice a few men in one fierce overwhelming
onslaught.
"A hundred rupees to the man who kills the young sahib, two hundred to
the man who takes him alive!" cried Diggle to his dusky followers, as
though in answer to Desmond's thought.
Then, turning to the discomfited crew of the Good intent, he said: "Sure,
my men, you will not be beaten by a boy and a one-armed man. There's a
fortune for all of you in those carts. At them again, my men; I'll show
you the way."
He was as good as his word. He snatched a long lathi from one of the
Bengalis and rushed up the slope to the hackeri nearest the nullah.
Finding a purchase for one end of his club in the woodwork of the wagon,
he put forth all his strength in the effort to push it over the edge.
Owing to the length of the lathi he was out of reach of the half pikes in
the hands of the boatmen, who had to lunge either over or under the
carts.
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