In an hour or two he came to the top of the slope and the beginning of the second tableland.  A grey dimness was taking the place of the dark, and it had suddenly grown bitterly cold.  Dawn in such high latitudes is not a thing of violent changes, but of slow and subtle gradations of light, of sudden, coy flushes of colour, of thin winds and bright fleeting hazes.  He lay for a minute in the scrub of cloud-berries, the collar of his coat buttoned round his throat, and the morning wind, fresh from leagues of snow, blowing chill on his face.  Behind was the slope alive with men who at any moment might emerge on the plateau.  He waited for the sight of a figure, but none came; clearly the muster was not yet complete.  A thought grew in his brain, and a sudden clearness in the air translated it into action; for in the hazy distance across the tableland he saw the walls of Forza fort.

The place could not be two miles off, and between it and him there was the smooth benty plateau.  He might make a rush for it and cross unobserved.  Even now the early sun was beginning to strike it.  The yellow-grey walls stood out clear against the far line of mountains, and the wisp of colour which fluttered in the wind was clearly the British flag.  The exceeding glory of the morning gave him a new vigour.  Why should not he run with any tribesman of the lot?  If he could but avoid the risk of a rifle bullet at the outset, he would have no fear of the issue.

He glanced behind him.  The place seemed still, though far down there was a tinkle as of little stones falling.  He stood up, straightened himself for one moment till he had filled his lungs with the clean air.  Then he started to run quickly towards the fort.

The full orb of the sun topped the mountains and the dazzle was in his eyes from the first.  If he covered the first half-mile unpursued he would be safe; otherwise he might expect a bullet.  It was a comic feeling-the wide green heath, the fresh air, the easy vigour in his stride, the flush of the morning sun, and that awkward, nervous weakness in the small of his back where a bullet might be expected to find a lodgment.

He never looked back till he had gone what seemed to him the proper distance, and then he glanced hurriedly over his shoulder.

Two men had emerged from the scrub and stood on the edge of the slope.  They were gazing intently at him, and suddenly one lifted a Snider to his shoulder and fired.  The bullet burrowed in the sand to the right of him.  Again he looked back and there they were—­five of them now—­crying out to him.  Then with one accord they followed over the plateau.