"Monsieur, I was surprised to see them start off on foot. I was more than pleased to find that they took a chemin de travers or what you call a country cross road that leads to the deserted mines or caves of Metidja. This told me they were encamped there, and I heard one man telling another they would not leave until morning, as they had other business in hand."
At this John plucks up courage. The thought of Lady Ruth being miles away, mounted on a fast horse and speeding toward some desert fastness of the robbers, was one to almost paralyze his brain, for the chances of his doing anything to help her in such a case were few and far between.
"What can we do, Mustapha? We are bold and determined, still we are only three against an army. The odds are great."
"Ah! monsieur, it might be beyond our power to overcome the fighters of Bab Azoun by force, but there are other ways."
"Thank Heaven, yes."
"The battle is not always to the strong, nor the race to the swift."
"He speaks like ze prophet," murmurs Monsieur Constans, gazing upon the sublime face and magnificent figure of the Arab courier with something that partakes of the nature of awe.
"True, we are three—they are forty. If we venture to attack we will meet death. That is very good; death comes to all men, and the Koran teaches us that the brave who die in battle, with their faces toward the foe, are transported immediately to paradise. That is why the followers of Mohammed never know fear in a battle. But if we die, what then becomes of those in the hands of Bab Azoun?"
"Ay, what indeed?" mournfully.
"Therefore, to save them, monsieur, we must try to live."