The Soudanese very seldom fight fairly, and when they saw that Hubert was getting the worst of it, a dozen of them surrounded Max, cutting him off entirely from his followers.
It was a critical moment.
Max swung his scimiter round vigorously, dealing out terrible blows with it; but what could one man do against twelve?
He felt he would have to succumb.
Ibrahim’s premonition came to his mind.
He was to be the one to die, not the Persian.
He was ready for his fate, but even as he admitted it he resolved that Ponsonby should not live to gloat over his defeat.
He threw himself forward on Ponsonby, bearing him from his horse.
Like a lightning flash Max dismounted and grasped Hubert by the throat.
A Soudanese raised his scimiter and was about to bring it down on the young American’s head, when the blow was turned aside by the Mahdi’s spear, and instead of cutting off the head of the young lieutenant of the Mahdi, it did no other damage than the destruction of a verse of the Koran.