Guy and Canaris wheeled round and stood with drawn revolvers. The Somali clutched his spear and drew up his shield. The silence remained unbroken.
One single cry and a mad horde would rush forth like bees from a hive. The Somali made one step backward, then another, and then, opening his mouth, he gave a yell that was caught up in horrible echoes till the street fairly rang.
“Malediction!” cried Canaris, in uncontrollable fury, “that’s your last shout,” and, taking quick aim, he pulled his revolver on the shouting Somali.
A stunning report, a hollow groan, and down came the savage all in a heap, while the heavy shield bounded with a clatter over the stones.
CHAPTER XIV.
OVER THE WALLS.
The crack of the revolver, following closely on the Somali’s loud yell, had barely died away in echoes when the dark street seemed fairly to burst into life.
The fugitives did not wait to see the result of the shot, but as they dashed madly forward they heard the people calling wildly to one another as they hurried from their dwellings.