"Not a bit," replied the fallen man cheerily, springing to his feet.
The officer jumped off his horse, and the three men stood ready to sell their lives as dearly as possible. They were none too soon, for, in the darkness, the enemy, riding at full gallop, were almost on top of them before they could pull up. The moment they were near enough to see, they poured another murderous volley into the devoted little party, and the Irishman fell with a bullet through his chest. In reply, the Captain and our hero blazed away with their rifles into the cluster of horsemen.
Suddenly a voice rang out above the noise of the cracking rifles, and the Arabs ceased fire; then clear and strong came in unmistakable European tones—
"Surrender, you English, or you die!"
In an instant Helmar recognized the voice—it was Arden's. Rage filled him as he thought that once more he was in the power of this man, and he made up his mind to fire his last cartridge before he gave in. He raised his rifle to his shoulder, but Forsyth stayed him.
"It's no use. He has got us foul. Alive we may escape, but with fifty to one against us, it is suicide." Then raising his voice to a shout, he cried, "We surrender!"
The words were hardly out of his mouth when, with a terrific shout, a volley was poured into the unprepared Arabs, and a frightful mêlée ensued as the rest of the patrol, headed by the sergeant, charged to the rescue.
In the confusion Forsyth and Helmar sprang on to their horses—Brian was beyond their help—and galloped towards their friends. The darkness was so intense that the two men immediately got separated. Helmar unconsciously altered his direction and immediately fell in with a party of horsemen galloping off. Thinking it to be the patrol, he joined them, and raced away. His horse was very fresh and quickly forged ahead into the midst of his companions, when, to his dismay, he discovered his mistake—he was in the midst of the flying enemy.
With an exclamation of horror he endeavoured to pull up, but this attracted attention, and the men beside him, turning, saw his white face and shouted to their leader. George raised his revolver, but ere he could pull the trigger it was knocked from his hand and he was defenceless.
The Arabs now closed all around him—there was no possibility of escape. One man had seized his horse's bridle, and he was forced to gallop on whether he liked it or not. He threw back his head and shouted, thinking his friends might still be within hearing, but a blow on the mouth with the butt end of a pistol silenced him, and bursting with rage and mortification he had to gallop on.