“So ho! You are a renegade, are you?” sneered Ponsonby.
“You wear the Turk’s colors, I the Mahdi’s; that is the difference,” answered Max.
Steel clashed on steel, the sparks flew from the blades, but neither combatant was wounded.
“Surrender!” cried Max.
“Never!” answered Hubert.
Again the two men came together.
The blood was now flowing from Hubert’s left shoulder, but Max was unhurt.
The Englishman was getting weak from loss of blood.
With his left hand, weak though it was from the wound, he drew his revolver.
“No, that will never do,” Max exclaimed, as he made an upward cut and sent the revolver careening through the air.