"Likely little beggars," he said to himself. "If they will allow me, I will become their owner for the time being."
A few paces brought him beside one of the animals, and with a bound he was in the saddle. Then grasping the halter of the other, he made a turn with it through the bridle of the pony he rode. Then he began to round up that part of the troop between him and his comrades.
"Look out!" came a shout in the colonel's voice; and turning swiftly, Jim saw a figure bounding across the grass towards him. Snap, bang! went a rifle, and a bullet discharged by the colonel whistled past the head of the pursuing Somali warrior. Bang! A second had no better effect, and ere a third could be attempted the man was upon our hero. Quick as lightning Jim dived his hand into his waistcloth, only to discover that his father had his revolver. He was apparently unarmed, while the Somali bore a flashing spear, and a huge sword at his girdle. "Ah, the sword!" thought Jim, and instantly recollected that he had thrust the weapon into the belt tied about his left forearm.
How it happened Jim never knew, but in the shortest space of time he was riding forward, driving part of the troop before him, while behind, huddled upon his face upon the grass, was the Somali warrior, a murmured "Allah" on his dying lips.
"A great stroke! Bravely and coolly done!" shouted the colonel, who had looked on anxiously, expecting the worst to happen, and blaming himself for his want of skill. "A running man is no easy object when one is mounted upon a fresh pony such as his; but all's well. It was a stroke! The lad has a head, and can look well to himself. I thought the spear was through him, and almost shouted, but he ducked at the very instant, and then—ah, I saw the blade go well home. But those fellows may have heard the shots, and if so, we shall soon be followed."
"Forward!" came Jim's voice at this moment; and instantly all began to urge the troop of animals into a trot. Leaping from their saddles, they picked stones from the earth and then pelted the beasts, shouting at them till their trot broke into a gallop.
"Now keep them to it, and if they try to stop, make a rush at them," shrieked John Margetson, sitting his pony in an attitude which showed clearly that he was no horseman. "Forward! To the zareba!"
It was a time of wild excitement, and each of the fugitives entered into the spirit of it thoroughly. Exhilarated by the quick movement over the rolling hills and valleys, with the smell of the horses in their nostrils, and the dust of four hundred heels in their eyes, they raced over the grass, driving the frantic animals before them. A thunderous sound filled the air as the animals galloped, but loud as it was it failed to drown that shout which came from behind.
"Allah! Allah! They have escaped us, and are riding away! Back! Leave the mine, and run! Money and a high place will be given to those who come up with the infidel!"
It was the Mullah who had heard the shots aimed at the sentry, and had climbed to the top of the hill to ascertain the cause.