“Hush, effendi!” said Yussuf sternly. “These may not be friends.”
“What?” exclaimed Mr Burne, cocking his gun.
“Yes; that is right, excellencies; look to your arms. If they are friends there is no harm done. They will respect us the more. If they are enemies, we must be prepared.”
“Stop!” said Mr Preston, glancing at Lawrence. “We must hide or run.”
“There is time for neither, effendi,” said Yussuf, taking out his revolver. “They will be upon us in a minute, and to run would be to draw their fire upon us.”
“Run!” exclaimed Mr Burne; “no, sir. As I’m an Englishman I won’t run. If it was Napoleon Bonaparte and his army coming, and these were the Alps, I would not run now, hungry as I am, and I certainly will not go for a set of Turkish ragamuffins or Greeks.”
“Then, stand firm here, excellencies, behind these stones. They are mounted; we are afoot.”
The little party had hardly taken their places in the shadow cast by a rock, when a group of horse and footmen came into sight. They were about fourteen or fifteen in number apparently, some mounted, some afoot, and low down in that deep gorge the darkness was coming on so fast that it was only possible to see that they were roughly clad and carried guns.
They came on at a steady walk, talking loudly, their horses’ hoofs ringing on the stony road, and quite unconscious of anyone being close beside the path they were taking till they were within some forty yards, when a man who was in front suddenly caught sight of the group behind the rocks, checked his horse, uttered a warning cry, and the next moment ample proof was given that they were either enemies or timid travellers, who took the party by the rocks for deadly foes.
For all at once the gloomy gorge was lit by the flashes of pretty well a dozen muskets, the rocks echoed the scattered volley, and magnified it fifty-fold, and then, with a yell, the company came galloping down, to rush past and reach the open slope beyond.