The next night the bivouac-fire was again visible, this time nearer than before. On the third night they were not more than seven or eight miles in rear of those whom they pursued.
On these occasions they were careful that their own fire should not be observed. They always lit it under the cover of large rocks or boulders, screening it from the north. They had every reason to suppose that the sheikh and his companion believed them dead. The Black Dog had doubtless told his employer that their pursuers had been buried alive in the crater of the old volcano.
Every night they were careful to post a sentry, and, on one occasion, when the first signs of dawn were visible in the east, Harry—who was on watch—suddenly heard a sound, faint but very distinct, immediately behind his back.
He turned quickly, but could see nothing. He waited for some moments, holding his breath, with his finger ready on the trigger of his revolver.
Nothing happened. The boy imagined that the sound had been caused by a rock-rabbit or a mountain-rat, and was about to resume his former position, when something descended upon him with a spring like that of a tiger.
In the nick of time he jumped aside. He saw a white figure rushing violently through space. In the moonlight he saw the flash of a knife that missed him by the fraction of an inch, and the next moment he was full length upon the ground, struggling in the arms of a powerful and savage man.
IN THE MOONLIGHT HE SAW THE FLASH OF A KNIFE THAT MISSED HIM BY THE FRACTION OF AN INCH
Locked together in a death-grip, they rolled over and over, first one on top and then the other. There was a loud shout, which came from the lips of Braid, and at that the two guides sprang to their feet and hastened to Harry's assistance.
The struggle ended as suddenly as it had begun. One second, strong fingers gripped Harry by the throat, and the next his adversary was gone. He had vanished like a ghost; he had slipped away like an eel.