“Ride on, Count! ride on, sheikh! Turn aside, Mr Mansfield, and you two, Abd-el-Kader and Nur-ed-Din. Dodge behind the sandhills, so. Have your rifles ready.”
Shouting in alternate English and Arabic, and strengthening his exhortations by means of vigorous pointing and shoving, Mr Hicks marshalled his forces. He and Mansfield were stationed close to the path between the sandhills, one on each side, the two Arabs a little behind them.
“Stay where you are, Mr Mansfield; and when you see the sheikh dismounted, round up his horse. That’s your business. You two men of the Beni Ismail, ride forward the moment the sheikh of your enemies has passed you and present your rifles at those who come after him. If they still ride on, fire; but don’t waste your shots, and reserve the second barrel.”
Having given his orders, Mr Hicks rode back a short distance from the path, and, unhooking the rope from his saddle, arranged it on his arm. This was scarcely accomplished to his satisfaction before Mansfield’s raised hand told him that the sheikh was close upon them, thundering on in hot pursuit of the party that was just disappearing round the sandhills in front. Neither Mansfield nor the Arabs could ever succeed in saying definitely what followed. That Mr Hicks rode forward across the sheikh’s path, that the rope in his hand whizzed through the air, and that in an instant the sheikh was prostrate on the ground and his horse rushing wildly away—this they perceived, but had no time even to wonder how it was done, for their own duties demanded their attention. Mansfield effected the capture of the terrified horse in a brilliant and wholly original manner; for when he grabbed frantically at its bridle as it dashed towards him, and failed to seize it, he kicked his foot free of the stirrup and caught it in the loose rein, with the result that he was promptly jerked from his saddle and thrown to the ground. Recovering himself immediately, he was in time to seize the rein with his hand before the astonished horse had made up its mind what to do. His own horse, which was equally amazed and indignant, by reason of his unconventional descent, allowed itself to be caught with less difficulty, and he turned to see how the other actors in the drama were faring. The two Arabs were sitting statue-like on their horses, covering with their rifles five or six of the Beni Ayub, who, on seeing their chief fall, had halted just out of range, and were afraid to follow him further, while the sheikh himself, black in the face and half-strangled, was being bound hand and foot in a most workman-like manner by Mr Hicks.
“Well done!” cried Mansfield. “Who would ever have thought of a lasso in this part of the world?”
“Ah, I haven’t gone cowboying in New Mexico for nothing,” said Mr Hicks complacently. “Go ahead, you fool! The more you kick, the tighter the knots will be, you bet. Ah, Mr Mansfield, you inclined to think I brought this lariat along to fix up my prisoners with before they were caught, but you see it has caught ’em and tied ’em both. Now I’m through, I guess I’ll mount this gentleman’s horse—for these Arabs are so cute that it would make nothing of carrying him right back to his friends all on its own hook, according to the Sunday-school books—and he shall have a seat on mine. But wait a minute first.”
He dragged his prisoner to a spot where he was in full view of his dismayed followers, and drawing out his revolver, held it to his head.
“You see this, men of the Beni Ayub?” he cried in Arabic, accompanying the words with appropriate gestures. “Your sheikh will go with us the rest of our journey. If you attack us, the first shot we fire will settle his business, and if you even molest us, we will take him to Es Sham and deliver him to the Roumis there. Therefore beware!”
Having shouted his warning, Mr Hicks mounted the sheikh’s horse, and with Mansfield’s assistance bound the prisoner firmly on his own; then, with the two Arabs bringing up the rear, they rode on after the rest. Great was the joy and exultation with which the Beni Ismail beheld the unpleasant plight of their hereditary foe; but Cyril interposed to forbid any indignities being offered to the captive, who might yet serve as a useful intermediary with his tribe. The novel method of his capture had produced a strong effect upon his mind, and largely increased his respect for the Prince of the Jews, and this feeling was enhanced by the continued failure of his own tribesmen to rescue him. They followed the party at a distance, and prowled round the camp at night in the hope of taking its defenders by surprise; but Mr Hicks and Mansfield kept watch and watch all night through, and this unceasing vigilance had its reward. By dint of long marches and little rest, the desert was safely crossed in six days after leaving Sitt Zeynab, and within three hours’ ride of Damascus the cavalcade paused while Cyril gave orders for the prisoner to be unbound, and his horse and rifle restored to him.
“Return to thy tribe, O Sheikh of the Beni Ayub,” he said, “and tell them of the clemency of the Prince of the Jews. I might have carried thee bound into Es Sham, and left thee to rot in a Roumi dungeon, but I send thee back to thy people, that they may know that I desire to be their friend, and that it is my will there shall be peace throughout the desert.”