'Don't kill them,' shouted Kemp in Turkish. 'Don't kill them. Take them
alive. Ten marks apiece to you if you take them alive.'
The men were on them instantly. There was no time to shoot. Stooping
swiftly, Roy swung up the broken barrel of the quick-firer, and with a
shout sprang at the Turks, whirling the weighty length of steel around his
head.
In his powerful hands it was a fearful weapon. The Turks went down like
ninepins. Ken, who grasped his rifle by the barrel was in no way behind
his chum. The Turks had not been prepared for such a resistance. Inside
ten seconds five of them were down, and the three others had had all they
wanted. They ran for their lives.
Kemp had taken no part in the battle. He was standing a little aloof on
the upper ground. Roy, having disposed of his assailant, whirled round and
made for the man.
Kemp whipped out a repeating pistol and levelled it at his head.
'Drop that or I shoot,' he said viciously.
'No, you don't,' cried Ken.
Ken had seen the pistol in Kemp's hand, and had just had time to get his
own rifle to his shoulder, the muzzle levelled full at Kemp's head.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117