But the snipers were keeping no sort of watch. Of course none of them had the faintest notion that any enemy was nearer than the trench, quite a couple of hundred yards away. As they snaked along, the attacking party could hear them talking in the low, measured tones peculiar to the Turk.
At last Ken gained his vantage point. He paused and drew his revolver. The others did the same.
Ken sprang to his feet, and with two bounds was in the pit.
There were five men there, and the attack took them utterly by surprise. Before they knew what was happening two were pistolled and one knocked silly by a blow from the butt of Horan's revolver. The two others fought gamely, but they were no match for the three Britishers. In less time than it takes to tell they were both laid out.
[Illustration: Stores, horses, and munitions were being landed on V. beach.]
[Illustration: Magnificent work was done by the landing parties in their advance inland.]
'Shut up, you ass!' snapped Ken. 'Do you want to bring every Turk within half a mile down on us. Look out. There's one chap moving. Tie him up, and, Dave, gather their rifles. I must go through their pockets. There's always a chance of useful information.'
'Lively now!' he added. 'They were expecting ammunition, and we shall have visitors in pretty short order.'
'My word, here they are already,' muttered Dave Burney. 'Half a dozen of 'em.'
Ken looked up quickly. A number of figures were just visible, coming along the ridge to the right.
'There are more than half a dozen,' he whispered sharply. 'More like double that number. And that looks like an officer with them.'
'We'd best make ourselves scarce,' suggested Dave quietly.
'Too late for that,' answered Ken. 'They're bound to see us. Besides, if they find the pit empty they'll only put fresh men here, and all the work will be to do again.'
'Let's tackle 'em then,' said Roy Horan recklessly.
'Odds are too long,' replied Ken. He paused a moment, and glanced round.
'I've an idea,' he said swiftly. 'I believe we can fool them. Quick! Take the coats off the dead men, and put them on. Their fezzes, too. In this light they'll never know the difference.'
'Then I'll talk back. I know the language.'
As he spoke, Ken was swiftly stripping one of the dead Turks of his overcoat. The others did the same, and within an incredibly short time all three were wearing dead men's clothes. The coats sat oddly on their long frames, but fortunately there was as yet very little light, and in the gray gloom they presented a tolerable resemblance to the late tenants of the rifle pit.