Miss Caprice Part 37

He attempts the same system of tactics that were so successful in the previous difficulty, but they do not pa.s.s current with these fierce men.

Immediately the two Franks are set upon by the desert tigers. Two seize Sir Lionel and drag him from his steed, he resisting desperately. What a great pity he exhausted his resources so thoroughly in the first round.

Ten men could not overcome him then, while two manage to hold him quiet now.

Philander, emboldened by his former success, thinks he can show them a trick or two that will count; but a blow chances to fall upon his bony steed's haunches, starting the animal off, and the professor, throwing valor to the four winds, proceeds to clasp his arms tightly around the horse's neck, shouting out an entreaty for some one, in the name of Julius Cesar, Mohammed, or Tom Jones, to stop the wicked beast before he makes mince-meat of his master.

One of the desert raiders gallops alongside, and, clutching the bridle, turns the runaway around.

By this time the commotion above has increased, and it even sounds as though the men of Bab Azoun might be starting out in quest of the fugitives who have given them the slip.

What are these sounds closer by--the thunder of many hoofs, the wild neighing of steeds? It is as though a squad of French cavalry might be rus.h.i.+ng down upon them.

The leader of the small Arab force gives quick orders, and his men immediately fall into line of battle, ready to meet the foe, if perchance such proves to be the character of the cavalcade.

Now they burst out of the aloe thicket--they come das.h.i.+ng straight on toward the spot where the little company is gathered.

The moonlight falls upon them. Most of the horses are seen to be riderless, yet they are the pet steeds of the outlaws, animals upon the backs of which they have committed depredations on the desert, and laughed pursuit to scorn.

Upon two of the foremost chargers human figures may be seen, and one glance tells them who these worthies are.

Lady Ruth is the first to exclaim:

"Why, it is John Craig."

"He will be killed, see these fellows getting ready to fire. John, take care!" and Aunt Gwen, in her eager desire to warn the doctor, waves her hands in the air, one of them grasping a fluttering white kerchief.

They hear the cry, they see the signal, and their eyes take in the line of dusky warriors that awaits their coming.

"Down, monsieur!" exclaims Mustapha.

Not a second too soon do they drop upon the necks of their horses, for a blinding flash comes from the men of Bab Azoun, a flash that is accompanied by a roar, and a hail-storm of lead sweeps through the s.p.a.ce occupied by the forms of John Craig and his guide just a brief interval before.

"Charge!" cries Craig, rising in his seat, his face white with the strange battle spirit, his right hand clutching a weapon.

Then comes a scene of action that is totally unlike the one preceding it, for now both sides are in deadly earnest, and the battle is a royal one, indeed.

When Craig fires he aims to diminish the number of his foes. Sometimes a rearing horse gets the benefit of the flying lead.

For the s.p.a.ce of a minute or so the utmost confusion reigns. At first the string of horses that the bold Craig and his guide were running away with, becomes a feature in the scene, prancing and shrilly neighing.

Then they break and scatter in many directions.

There were six Arabs originally in the party, but Philander knocked one _hors de combat_ with the tremendous whack of a gun he s.n.a.t.c.hed from its keeper.

Another drops from his horse before the fire of Doctor Chicago, and Mustapha, who handles a yataghan with marvelous dexterity, actually cleaves a third to the chin with the keen blade.

There is a brief but exceedingly lively engagement between the survivors and the Franks; but the tide of battle is with the strangers in Algiers.

Wounded and fairly beaten, the three raiders at last whirl their horses and dash madly away. Perhaps they are wise. It sometimes takes Sir Lionel a little while to get in motion, but that great fire-eater is about ready to enter the engagement at the time they fly, thus showing rare wisdom.

The field is won.

John hears the shouts of the pursuers close by, while sharp whistles sound, signals which are meant for the stray horses, loose from the kraal, which they are bound to obey.

"We must make use of every second. They will be after us," he says, hastily.

Lady Ruth shudders when she sees one of the Arabs endeavoring to stanch a wound in his shoulder. There is no mimic war here, it is evident.

When they start in a little squad, it is with a faint hope of making such progress that the enemy must give up the pursuit; but almost immediately John discovers something that gives him uneasiness.

His horse staggers. It is evident that the beast has been struck with a flying piece of lead, and is about to fall under him.

The doctor says nothing, and hopes his absence may not be noticed by the flying column, but, as it happens, when the catastrophe does occur, all of them see it.

Fortunately John clears himself just in time, and reaches the ground in safety. Lady Ruth pulls in her horse.

"You must not stop!" cries John; "urge your horses on--fly while you have time. I hear them coming!"

He tries to start Lady Ruth's nag, but she pulls on the lines.

"I decline to run and leave you here, Doctor Chicago," she says, resolutely.

"But you must go," he declares.

"Nonsense!" breaks in Philander. "Here's room for you, John. Jump up."

The young man sees that the quickest way to get them started is to obey, so he manages to reach the saddle in front of the professor, who clasps his arms about him and holds on.

This done, they clatter on again.

It soon becomes evident that their pursuers gain upon them rapidly, despite their best efforts. There can be but one end to the race, and this is in plain view.

John keeps his wits about him. If caught upon the open by the rus.h.i.+ng column of fierce desert warriors, a desperate engagement must ensue, which will doubtless end in their complete annihilation, for it can hardly be expected that Sir Lionel will be able to play his great game twice on the same night.

The Englishman has maintained a stolid silence all this while. Perhaps he is out of humor at the change in the arrangements, and fears lest, after all his hard work, the young Chicagoan may carry off the palm.

Past experience has been of that order.

Hence he moves without much animation. There seems to be a fatality about the sudden appearance of Doctor Chicago on the scene.

Meanwhile John Craig is not bothering his head about the small side-issues connected with the matter, which will work out their own final adjustment. He is more concerned regarding their escape from the threatening doom that seems ready to ingulf them.

Something must be done, that is certain, beyond all peradventure, and John quickly grasps the situation. There is no disease that does not have its remedy, and he finds a loop-hole of escape here.

As they gallop along they come to a structure built upon the road-side--a singular affair it was once upon a time, being made of stone. John recognizes features that tell him this deserted place was once a holy spot, the tomb of a _marabout_, or saint, built in a manner to suit the taste of the departed.

It has been long deserted, as too public, and the holy relics moved to some more secluded tomb within the walls of the cemetery on the high hill of Bouzareah.

This is their chance.