Miss Caprice Part 38

To continue the race means positive overhauling and doubtless death, while by accepting the chance that fortune has thrown in their way they may keep their enemies at bay until aid comes, for John has not forgotten the mission of Monsieur Constans.

He calls a halt, and briefly explains his plans. All of them see that the horses they ride are not in the race when compared with the magnificent steeds of their pursuers, and recognizing the fact that what John suggests is probably the best thing to be done under the existing circ.u.mstances, they quickly dismount.

The horses are then started along the road in the hope that they will lure the pursuers on while the little party pa.s.s through the opening, and enter the quaint building, once the resting-place of a holy Mohammedan's bones.

CHAPTER XX.

THE COMING OF THE FRENCH ZOUAVES.

Perhaps Mustapha Cadi, as a true Mohammedan, may have a certain amount of respect for this odd tomb of a _marabout_, but, as the saint's bones have been removed, he has no hesitation about making a fort out of the rocky recess.

When all have entered he closes the opening. The door is broken, but there are many loose stones around that can be made to serve.

There is no time just now to use them, for the rush of horses' hoofs are heard up the road, as the men of Bab Azoun come racing along, intent upon overhauling the fugitives.

They sweep past the rocky tomb like a young cyclone; it is a spectacle none of those who gaze upon it will ever forget. The moonlight renders it perfectly plain, and they can even see the savage expression of each Arab face as the riders dash by.

Now they are gone, and Mustapha begins to pile up the rocks against the door.

The others see what he is about, and immediately a.s.sist him, so that when a couple of minutes have elapsed they have made use of every available stone, and can regard their work with considerable satisfaction.

The roof of the tomb is the worst part, and, being made of wood, it shows signs of decay. They locate themselves as best the circ.u.mstances will allow and await the sequel.

It is too much to hope that their enemies will long be deceived by the trick that has been played. When they overtake, or sight, the riderless horses, they must grasp the situation, and whirling about, look for the fugitives upon the back trail. No doubt their shrewdness will at once tell them just where those they seek may be found.

Even as they finish their labor and take their positions, those in the tomb discover that a change has come; the shouts of the robbers are growing, louder, showing that they no longer race away. Their tenor has changed, too, and they sound vindictive in their antic.i.p.ated triumph.

"Ready! they come!" remarks the sententious guide, who takes matters in a cool manner, showing no sign of emotion.

There can be no mistaking the fact, for in another minute the angry band is in front of the old tomb.

Then begins a scene that savors of horrid war. The clamor of battle is in the air, loud shouts ring out, men charge, shots are fired, and with serious result.

Those who defend the fort know their lives are at stake, and they endeavor to make each shot tell. Even Sir Lionel has managed to reload his revolver, and this time makes sure that it contains lead.

The professor is bound not to be left, and as he has secured the long gun which was fastened to the saddle of the bony steed he rode, he sends its contents among the a.s.sailants, even as they make their rush.

The result is disastrous to Philander, since it knocks him off his perch; but, scrambling to his feet again, he looks out in time to see that his shot has played havoc among the animals of the attacking force.

Three are down, and their riders crawl from underneath, doubtless pretty well scared, if not seriously injured.

The first a.s.sault is over--the result is disastrous to the Arabs, who have received severe wounds among them.

They will probably reason the thing over now, and proceed upon new lines, which will possibly bring them nearer success than they have been thus far.

Our friends are not over-confident, even though they have won the first round. They know the tenacious character of the foe against whom they are pitted, and feel sure this is only the beginning. What the end may be only Heaven knows.

The breathing spell is occupied by them in reloading. Lady Ruth and Aunt Gwen arise to the occasion, and beg to be allowed to do anything that falls in their line. If there was only a spare weapon, the English girl declares she could easily load it, but it happens they have none.

Once more breaks out the noise of battle. Whatever may have been the original plans of Bab Azoun and his men, they have long since been forgotten. Revenge is the leading fact in their minds now, revenge for what has been done on this night.

An Arab is a good hater, especially if the object of his animosity be a Christian dog, an unbeliever. Nothing can be too cruel to inflict upon such a foe.

Those within the tomb have aroused the worst pa.s.sions of the robbers, and can look for no mercy.

The engagement is bitter, indeed, for the Arabs have separated, and creep upon the place on all sides. They discover the weakness of the roof, and bend their energies toward crus.h.i.+ng this in.

There is a hot scene, and more than one of the sailants feel the breath of flying lead, together with the sudden sting that tells of a burning wound.

It would be hard to say how the affair might have terminated were the original combatants allowed to carry it to a conclusion, for both sides are desperate, and one of them would have to win.

John has not been without hope. He believes the French zouaves from the Kasbah must long ere this have started on their secret march toward the old mines of Metidja, and he feels sure the noise of battle must direct them to the spot where the fierce engagement is in progress.

Men will fight like tigers when all they have in the world is at stake.

John is nerved to greater deeds of valor by the fact that Lady Ruth is present. He shudders at the thought of her falling into the hands of these wild desert rovers.

Finding their efforts to beat in the door useless, the a.s.sailants turn their whole attention toward the roof. Great stones are hurled upon it, and the chances of its holding out are few indeed.

When an opening is made a dark face appears at it, and the fellow attempts to push his gun in so that he may fire. Before he can succeed, Mustapha Cadi has leaped upward, and fastened his hand upon the man's throat, and by the weight of his body pulls the fellow through.

Philander s.n.a.t.c.hes up the gun with a cry of delight. He seems to have a weakness for these Arab weapons, on this night, at least, three having pa.s.sed through his hands. There is heard the sound of a desperate tussle, as the faithful guide battles with his victim.

Again the hole above is darkened, as a human figure attempts to push through, but the British soldier is ready this time. He has the gun Philander threw aside as useless, and, with all his power, he dashes this against the human wedge that fills the opening, sending the fellow whirling over to the ground, shrieking out Arabic imprecations, and calling upon Allah to give the unbelieving dogs into their hands.

More stones are served. They begin to drop through, and it looks serious for those who crouch within. Certainly they cannot hold out much longer.

Heaven is kind, Heaven is merciful. The silent prayers of the two women who kneel within the old tomb are heard.

Just when the clamor of battle is at its height, when the climax is near at hand, they hear a sound that brings joy to the little band, struggling against unequal numbers--a sound that has many times been heard upon the great war-fields of the world--the clear notes of a bugle.

Then come fierce shouts, the cheers of charging zouaves. It is a thrilling period to those who have been almost at the last gasp.

Louis Napoleon, struggling at Sedan, could not have heard the zouave battle-cry with more complete satisfaction than they do now.

The Arabs are caught in the very trap they have so long eluded, and it looks like a bad job for them. As to our friends, they are no longer in the affair, and proceed to remove the stones from the door, in order that they may look upon the last scene of the tragic drama.

When this has been done, they see a spectacle that is more pleasing to their eyes than any recently enacted--a scene made up of struggling Arabs and French zouaves, where the latter are five to one--where flas.h.i.+ng bayonets meet the cruel yataghan, and the dark deeds of many past years are avenged by the brave soldiers of France.

It is quickly over.

Bab Azoun and his desperate followers expect no mercy, and the French give none. The few Arabs who are uninjured, make a determined a.s.sault in one quarter, and literally hew their way through, leaving half of their number on the field.

Few indeed are they who escape, but the victory is shorn of its princ.i.p.al feature, when the fact is disclosed that the dread terror of the desert, the notorious rebel, Bab Azoun, is not among the slain.

He was seen to fall, and yet they cannot find his body, search as they may.

Not being mounted, the French soldiers are unable to give pursuit to the little band that hewed a way out. Besides, they have plenty to do attending to the wounded.