Dervish Bey lost not a moment in ordering his small party to get ready their swords and pistols, and as the robbers drew near he called out to inquire what they wanted. The only reply was a musket-ball, which passed close by his cheek.
Regardless of the disproportion of numbers, the brave old soldier struck his stirrups into his horse’s flanks, and, followed by his attendants, charged full at the centre of the band. So well did he wield his once-renowned sword that several had already fallen victims to its edge when an unlucky ball entered the eye of his horse, which reared and fell on its side. In vain did he struggle to withdraw his leg from the carcass of the dead horse, which pinned it to the ground; but his right arm was free, and he still continued to ward off the cuts which one or two of the cowardly miscreants on foot were making at his head.
At this moment a black steed passed like a meteor by the fallen Bey, while a single groan announced the fate of one of those who had been cutting at him. Again the black horse wheeled and was at his side, and the second robber fell dead by his companion.
The Bey caught sight of the rider’s face, changed indeed from what he had seen on the preceding day. Now the angry veins swelled on the brow, fire darted from the flashing eyes, and the sweep of the vengeful arm was like a tempest. Again and again did he charge among the astonished banditti, shouting and dealing his terrible blows, each of which bore with it a life or a limb. Cuts and bullets were aimed at him during his headlong course, but it seemed as if he were proof against lead or steel.
His impetuosity had carried him to some distance from the prostrate soldier, when he saw that again several of the miscreants on foot were approaching to despatch him. Shouting aloud his war-cry of “Hassan Ebn-el-Heràm” in a voice that rose high above the din of the conflict, he dashed his stirrups into Shèitan’s flank, and in a few bounds was again beside the fallen chief.
For a second the sound of that dreaded name seemed to paralyse every arm, and Hassan had time to throw himself from his panting horse and to cover with his own person, and with his sweeping sword, the helpless form of the prostrate Bey.
Indignant at being foiled by a single man, they crowded around him, and had he not succeeded in snatching from one of the robbers a round shield of hippopotamus-hide, such as is used by the natives of Soudan, he must soon have fallen beneath the blows aimed at him from so many quarters. As it was, he fought like a lion at bay, and, though wounded in several places, was still maintaining the unequal contest, when Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, who had been unable to keep up with the furious speed at which Shèitan had borne his impetuous rider, now appeared on the scene. Two of the ruffians who were attacking Hassan fell at once beneath the swords of his faithful followers, and the remainder, astonished and disheartened at this unexpected reinforcement, slowly retired.
Hassan vaulted once more on the back of Shèitan, refreshed by the short breathing-time which his rider’s conflict on foot had allowed him, and again shouting his war-cry, charged the hesitating band, accompanied by his two brave attendants.
The robbers, not knowing how many more of Hassan’s followers might be approaching, fled as fast as their legs and horses could carry them. Several were killed and wounded by Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, and two they seized and brought back prisoners. While thus engaged, Hassan returned to Dervish Bey and exerted all that remained of his fast-failing strength in extricating him from the carcass of the dead horse—an object which he had scarcely effected ere he sank down beside him, weak and exhausted from loss of blood.
A happy smile passed over his features as he observed that the brave old soldier was altogether unhurt. The latter, with the ready presence of mind gained in many a former fight, wasted not a moment in thanking his deliverer, but busied himself in examining and binding up his wounds.