Unscathed the two correspondents gained their desired position, and were soon following up the extended line of infantry, who, advancing by short rushes and dropping on one knee, were taking rapid yet careful aim at the dull red spurts of flame betwixt the palm-trees.
"It's not going to be much, after all," exclaimed Devereux. "The Berbers are bolting already."
"Don't be too cocksure, sonny," replied Craddock, glancing towards the oasis as he paused in the act of writing in his note-book. "They are——"
A loud, irregular discharge of musketry in the rear caused the two correspondents, and many of the French infantry, to turn their heads and gaze with mingled feelings at the new danger that threatened.
Out of a khor in the ground already traversed by the French troops poured nearly a thousand Moorish hillmen, and in a moment the right flank of the invaders was cut off and surrounded, while the centre and left flanks, taken completely by surprise, were compelled to execute a hasty, yet comparatively disciplined, strategic movement to the rear.
"We're fairly trapped, by George!" ejaculated Devereux.
"Right for once," replied Craddock, coolly. "Stand by with your revolver. Those varmints won't recognise the rights of non-combatants, I guess."
The Berbers love nothing better than to come to close quarters with their foes; and the gallant Foreign Legion realised that once their ferocious adversaries came to hand-to-hand blows their own chances would be small. Yet, in spite of the deadly magazine-rifle fire, the mountaineers rushed in and were soon crossing steel with the French troops who, shoulder to shoulder or back to back, defended themselves by bullet and bayonet.
Presently Devereux became aware that the hammer of his revolver was snapping harmlessly upon empty chambers. Hastily throwing open the heated weapon he began to thrust fresh cartridges into the six cylinders. But ere he could complete his task Craddock lurched violently against his companion, and dropped inertly upon the sand. As in a dream the Englishman saw his confrère's note-book slip from the American's grasp. Instinctively Devereux stooped, picked it up, and thrust it into his own hip-pocket; and, standing astride the prostrate form of his companion, prepared to defend both the American and himself to the last.
Feverishly he strove to insert the remaining cartridges into the chambers, but before this could be accomplished the butt-end of a rifle, wielded by a desperate Legionnaire, caught the Englishman a glancing blow, on the temple ere it descended with a crash upon the skull of a Moor.