At that instant a sound of rushing footsteps was heard, and several figures darted by.
Pearson, being a very tall man, took a couple of strides after one of the suspicious figures, trying to seize it, while he cried out, ‘You seem in a hurry, friend.’
Hardly had the words escaped his lips when there was a flash, a loud report, and another ball came whizzing past the heads of the Lancers.
The momentary flash showed up a startling picture. Three brawny, picturesque-looking ruffians in baggy breeches and turbans, simply bristling with weapons, were seen rushing away.
A voice shouted, ‘After the rogues, boys;’ and Sergeant Linham appeared on the scene.
The Lancers started in pursuit, shouting, tripping over tent-ropes, and colliding with men who, aroused by the hubbub, came tumbling out of their tents. Jack, Sergeant Linham, Will, and Pearson kept together and headed the chase among the white tents.
The lines of the Lancers were right on the edge of the camp, and it was feared that the three desperadoes would escape once they could get outside the lines of tents, for they would have little difficulty in passing the sentries. Presently the pursuers lost sight of the men altogether, and running to the outside line of tents they all halted, vexed with themselves for having lost their prey.
They had become separated, Jack standing in the shadow of a tent just by the horse-lines. Suddenly a man came gliding round the other side of the tent, and, crouching low, was making off in the darkness. Jack, though, saw the glitter of steel, and in an instant he sprang forward and literally leapt on to the man’s back.
A sort of hissing snarl escaped the fellow, and jerking himself upright he tried to free himself from Jack’s grasp. The latter, however, was not to be cast off so easily. Being behind his man, he twined his left arm round his neck, almost throttling him, while with his right hand he prevented the fellow from drawing one of the many weapons he carried. At the same time he shouted loudly for help. The man fought and tore, rending Jack’s hands with his long, horny nails. At last, to prevent himself from being stabbed, Jack had to release his hold with his left arm and seize the man’s right wrist. Then they rocked to and fro for a few moments, when both fell, Jack being underneath. His head struck the ground sharply, and he relaxed his hold. His assailant whipped out a murderous-looking knife, which he raised on high with the intention of plunging it into the trumpeter’s heart. He felt with his left hand as though seeking for the place to inflict the mortal wound when, just as it seemed that Jack’s last moment had come, a heavy footstep sounded, a big figure dashed into sight, the ruffian received a crashing blow on the temple from a British fist, and Pearson’s voice cried out, ‘We’ve got one, boys; I’ll hang on to him, while you see what damage he’s done.’
This question was answered by Jack himself jumping to his feet and declaring he was unhurt.