CHAPTER XXVIII
MEETING OF FRIENDS AND CAPTURE OF ARDEN
The murderous fire continued, and the rebels, urged by their leader's words, turned like a flock of sheep worried by the herder's dog and fled precipitately; not one of that cowardly band waited to help their fallen chief, not one of them had any thought other than to save his own skin. Those who still remained in possession of their horses, scattered and galloped away in every direction, while those on foot threw down their arms and ran for their lives, pursued by the skirmishers who came galloping across the sandy plains.
George and his companions took in the situation at a glance, the uniform of the new-comers told its tale—the British soldiers had come to their rescue.
Helmar had no time to realize what this timely succour meant to him, and, for the present, he watched with interest the panic-stricken retreating rabble. He saw the sturdy horses of the honest English soldiers overtake one by one the flying Arabs, until at last the whole of that murderous band was in the hands of his friends. While he was still watching this interesting sight, three men rode up from behind, and a voice, sharp and clear, in tones of command addressed him.
"Who are you, and what does all this mean?"
George turned at the words and glanced at the man who had uttered them. He was tall and slight, with a thin aristocratic face, and, by the stars on his shoulders, Helmar knew him to be the officer in command. Without replying to the question, he said with heartfelt fervour—
"Thank God you came in time, you have accomplished more than you know of, sir!"
"Yes, yes, but answer my questions," the officer said impatiently.