CHAPTER XIX.
WAR--HORRID WAR!
These strange events have occurred with great rapidity, and yet, ofcourse, they have taken some little time.
It would seem as though the remainder of Bab Azoun's band, if anywherein the vicinity, might by this time have arrived on the spot, but theydo not show up, which fact is a fortunate one for them, though it takesaway from the luster of Sir Lionel's fame.
When the four fugitives come out of the old mine into the moonlight, thesoldier looks about him quickly.
"If we could only find horses," he cries.
"What's this?" asks Philander.
A whinny sounds close by.
"This way, friends. Bless me! if this isn't the acme of good luck! Hereare horses--three, four of them, just one apiece, by Jove!"
"Oh, how singular! I mean how fortunate!" exclaims Lady Ruth.
There are the animals, fastened to branches of the trees. Why they areseparated from the remainder of the herd is not explained.
Sir Lionel never looks a gift of fortune in the face, but when his eyesfall upon the four miserable worn-out hacks which have thus fallen totheir share, he grits his teeth, and Philander is puzzled to understandwhat he just catches:
"Duse take the bloody heathen! A hundred pounds and four suchscarecrows!"
Perhaps he is thinking of the chances of their being overhauled by themen of Bab Azoun, mounted on swift coursers, for there are none who ridebetter than these desert warriors, and none who own such steeds.
"Let us mount--seconds are precious. There, by throwing one stirrupover, it will make a fair lady's saddle. Allow me, Lady Ruth."
They are speedily mounted. Aunt Gwen seems quite at home on a horse,which she has ridden many times in the Blue Grass regions of Kentucky.As to Philander, the same does not apply. He acts as though in deadlyfear of being pitched over the animal's head. The fates decree that thelargest horse of all falls to his lot, a raw-boned, loose-jointedspecimen of equine growth, and the little professor looks like a monkeyperched aloft.
If the beast ever had any martial ardor, it has long ago died out, andyet to the excited fancy of the professor, he might as well be upon theback of a prancing, rearing, snorting war-horse. When the equine wondershakes his long ears, Philander imagines he is about to perform someamazing trick, and, filled with a new dread, he clasps his arms aroundthe poor creature's neck, and calls out:
"Whoa! there's a good fellow--be quiet now! I wouldn't hurt you, boy!Whoa! I say. Hang me if I don't believe you've got the devil in you.Want to kill me, eh? No, you don't. Easy now, you rascal. Whoa, whoa!"
Fortunately for Philander the horse follows the lead of the others, andthe professor is not left behind.
All seems working well.
Sir Lionel, the undaunted veteran, can afford to smile. Success isapparently assured, for they have gone some little distance, and onlynow do the clamorous sounds from their rear indicate a commotion.
Pursuit may be made, but it will be useless, as they are not many milesfrom the walls of Algiers, which will give them shelter.
It looks like a big success, and surely after the wonderful events ofthis night Lady Ruth cannot ignore the claims he presents. She must fallinto the arms of the hero who has rescued her from the Arab host.
So probably he reasons.
But fate hits the man of valor a cruel blow, and that just when it seemsas though he has success between his fingers.
It happens naturally enough. At the time a portion of Bab Azoun'spiratical band chanced to be separated from the main body, and wereunder orders to join them at the Metidja mines.
Coming up the slope, they are amazed to see a little band of pilgrimsadvancing, lashing their plugs of horses desperately, in the hope ofmaking good time.
The fatal moonlight betrays the fact that this little party is made upof the hated Franks, and hearing the tremendous commotion that has nowarisen in the direction of the cavern, it is easy to line up the case,and conclude that the party has escaped.
Hence it is that all of a sudden Sir Lionel finds himself in the midstof half a dozen Arab riders, who bar farther progress.
It is the unexpected that happens.
He attempts the same system of tactics that were so successful in theprevious difficulty, but they do not pass current with these fierce men.
Immediately the two Franks are set upon by the desert tigers. Two seizeSir Lionel and drag him from his steed, he resisting desperately. What agreat pity he exhausted his resources so thoroughly in the first round.Ten men could not overcome him then, while two manage to hold him quietnow.
Philander, emboldened by his former success, thinks he can show them atrick or two that will count; but a blow chances to fall upon his bonysteed's haunches, starting the animal off, and the professor, throwingvalor to the four winds, proceeds to clasp his arms tightly around thehorse's neck, shouting out an entreaty for some one, in the name ofJulius Cesar, Mohammed, or Tom Jones, to stop the wicked beast beforehe 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 soundsas though the men of Bab Azoun might be starting out in quest of thefugitives who have given them the slip.
What are these sounds closer by--the thunder of many hoofs, the wildneighing of steeds? It is as though a squad of French cavalry might berushing down upon them.
The leader of the small Arab force gives quick orders, and his menimmediately fall into line of battle, ready to meet the foe, ifperchance such proves to be the character of the cavalcade.
Now they burst out of the aloe thicket--they come dashing straight ontoward the spot where the little company is gathered.
The moonlight falls upon them. Most of the horses are seen to beriderless, yet they are the pet steeds of the outlaws, animals uponthe 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 oneglance 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, takecare!" and Aunt Gwen, in her eager desire to warn the doctor, waves herhands 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 lineof 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 isaccompanied by a roar, and a hail-storm of lead sweeps through the spaceoccupied by the forms of John Craig and his guide just a brief intervalbefore.
"Charge!" cries Craig, rising in his seat, his face white with thestrange battle spirit, his right hand clutching a weapon.
Then comes a scene of action that is totally unlike the one precedingit, for now both sides are in deadly earnest, and the battle is a royalone, indeed.
When Craig fires he aims to diminish the number of his foes. Sometimesa rearing horse gets the benefit of the flying lead.
For the space of a minute or so the utmost confusion reigns. At firstthe string of horses that the bold Craig and his guide were running awaywith, 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 snatched from itskeeper.
Another drops from his horse before the fire of Doctor Chicago, andMustapha, who handles a yataghan with marvelous dexterity, actuallycleaves a third to the chin with the keen blade.
There is a brief but exceedingly lively engagement between the survivorsand the Franks; but the tide of battle is with the strangers in Algiers.
Wounded and fairly b
eaten, the three raiders at last whirl their horsesand dash madly away. Perhaps they are wise. It sometimes takes SirLionel a little while to get in motion, but that great fire-eater isabout ready to enter the engagement at the time they fly, thus showingrare wisdom.
The field is won.
John hears the shouts of the pursuers close by, while sharp whistlessound, signals which are meant for the stray horses, loose from thekraal, 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 stancha 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 makingsuch progress that the enemy must give up the pursuit; but almostimmediately John discovers something that gives him uneasiness.
His horse staggers. It is evident that the beast has been struck with aflying piece of lead, and is about to fall under him.
The doctor says nothing, and hopes his absence may not be noticed by theflying column, but, as it happens, when the catastrophe does occur, allof them see it.
Fortunately John clears himself just in time, and reaches the ground insafety. Lady Ruth pulls in her horse.
"You must not stop!" cries John; "urge your horses on--fly while youhave 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 claspshis 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, andthis is in plain view.
John keeps his wits about him. If caught upon the open by the rushingcolumn of fierce desert warriors, a desperate engagement must ensue,which will doubtless end in their complete annihilation, for it canhardly be expected that Sir Lionel will be able to play his great gametwice on the same night.
The Englishman has maintained a stolid silence all this while. Perhapshe 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 fatalityabout the sudden appearance of Doctor Chicago on the scene.
Meanwhile John Craig is not bothering his head about the smallside-issues connected with the matter, which will work out their ownfinal adjustment. He is more concerned regarding their escape from thethreatening doom that seems ready to ingulf them.
Something must be done, that is certain, beyond all peradventure, andJohn quickly grasps the situation. There is no disease that does nothave its remedy, and he finds a loop-hole of escape here.
As they gallop along they come to a structure built upon theroad-side--a singular affair it was once upon a time, being made ofstone. John recognizes features that tell him this deserted place wasonce a holy spot, the tomb of a _marabout_, or saint, built in a mannerto suit the taste of the departed.
It has been long deserted, as too public, and the holy relics moved tosome more secluded tomb within the walls of the cemetery on the highhill of Bouzareah.
This is their chance.
To continue the race means positive overhauling and doubtless death,while by accepting the chance that fortune has thrown in their waythey may keep their enemies at bay until aid comes, for John has notforgotten the mission of Monsieur Constans.
He calls a halt, and briefly explains his plans. All of them seethat the horses they ride are not in the race when compared with themagnificent steeds of their pursuers, and recognizing the fact that whatJohn suggests is probably the best thing to be done under the existingcircumstances, they quickly dismount.
The horses are then started along the road in the hope that they willlure the pursuers on while the little party pass through the opening,and enter the quaint building, once the resting-place of a holyMohammedan's bones.