Colin, before declaring himself, glanced sharply around, carrying his eye towards the embouchure of the ravine, to assure himself that the Arab was alone.
As there was nobody else in sight, and no sound heard that would indicate the proximity of any one, it was probable enough that the rider of the maherry was the only enemy opposed to them.
“The deil take him!” cried Colin, after making his cautious reconnaissance. “If he take us, he must first fight for it. Come on, old skinflint! you’ll find we’re true British tars, ready for a score such as you!”
The three youths had by this time unsheathed their shining daggers, and thrown themselves into a sort of triangle, the maherry in their midst.
The old sheik, unprepared for such a reception, was altogether taken aback by it; and for some seconds sate upon his high perch seemingly irresolute how to act.
Suddenly his rage appeared to rise to such a pitch that he could no longer command his actions; and bringing the long gun to his shoulder, he levelled it at Harry Blount, who had been foremost in braving him.
The stream of smoke, pouring forth from its muzzle, for a moment enveloped the form of the youthful mariner; but from the midst of that sulphury nimbus came forth a clear manly voice, pronouncing the word “Missed!”
“Thank God!” cried Terence and Colin, in a breath; “now we have him in our power! He can’t load again! Let’s on him altogether! Heave he!”
And uttering this nautical phrase of encouragement, the three mids, with naked dirks, rushed simultaneously towards the maherry.
The Arab, old as he may have been, showed no signs either of stiffness or decrepitude. On the contrary, he exhibited all the agility of a tiger-cat; along with a fierce determination to continue the combat he had initiated, notwithstanding the odds that were against him. On discharging his gun, he had flung the useless weapon to the ground; and instead of it now grasped a long curving scimitar, with which he commenced cutting around him in every direction.