Then he said to Zaki, "Dismount and stand behind your horse, and fire over the saddle; but don't fire the first shot now."
He threw himself from his saddle. Scarcely had he done so when four shots were fired, and Gregory took a steady aim at the chief. The latter threw up his arms, and fell. With a yell of fury, the others dashed forward. Zaki did not fire until they were within twenty yards, and directly afterwards Gregory fired again. There were now but five assailants.
"Now for your pistols, Zaki!" he cried, glancing round for the first time.
He then saw why Zaki had not fired when he first did so--his horse was lying dead in front of him, shot through the head.
"Stand by me! Don't throw away a shot! You take the man on the other side of the horse. I will take the others."
Steadily the four pistols were fired. As the Arabs rode up, two of them fell, and another was wounded. Dismayed at the loss of so many of their number, the three survivors rode off at full speed.
"Are you hurt, Zaki?"
"A spear grazed my cheek, my lord; that is all. It was my own fault. I kept my last barrel too long. However, it tumbled him over.
"Are you hurt, master?"
"I have got a ball in the shoulder. That fellow without a spear has got pistols, and fired just as I did; or rather, an instant before. That shook my aim, but he has a ball in him, somewhere.