"Crack!"
The Duke's horse reared, but he pulled it down.
"Half right--gallop!"
He caught the bridle of the girl's horse, and cantered to where a little
hillock afforded a rough entrenchment.
"Don't dismount, the hill covers you," he said, and plucked a carbine
from his saddle bucket. He handed the reins of his horse to Sir Harry
and swung to the ground. Hank followed him up the little hill, and
Alicia heard them talking.
"Four hundred?" said Hank.
"A little farther I should say," said the Duke; "this air is wonderfully
clear and deceptive."
"We'll give 'em five hundred," concluded Hank.
"That will be nearer the mark," agreed the Duke.
Very deliberately they adjusted the sights of their carbines. "I
think," she heard the Duke say, "that the gentleman in the white
night-shirt is some sort of leader."
Hank raised his weapon. For a moment his cheek cuddled the stock and
the slim barrel pointed at the invisible enemy.
"Bang!"
Her horse moved restlessly, and Sir Harry was all but unseated.
"Bang!"
The Duke fired.
"Got him!" said Hank and waited.
In a minute the two came running to their horses. "Gone to ground,"
said the Duke briefly, and sprang into the saddle.
There was no sign of the brigand's forces as they emerged from the
sheltering hill. On the sandy slope of the ridge there was a little
patch of white lying very still. The girl averted her eyes.
The party now struck off to the right.
"I had hoped," said the Duke, "to have entered Tangier by some other
route than that." He pointed ahead to where a little clump of trees
suggested a human habitation.
"But isn't this the nearest way," asked Alicia wonderingly. They could
see the stretch of the Fez Road as it dipped and wound across the plain.
"It is," said the Duke grimly.
He did not tell her all--it seemed unnecessary. He had learnt something
of Mr. Slewer's movements, and Bill had discovered something of his.
For example, Bill learnt of the Duke's pig-sticking expedition and had
carefully gone over the route the Duke would take. Neither the Duke nor
Hank had made any secret of their intention, and it was a simple matter
to convey their plans to Bill.
"We might as well get it over," said the Duke, "let Bill know we are
going out, and see what he does."
What Bill did was to ride out of Tangier and select a likely spot for a
"meeting." In an excess of diffidence he chose a place where he could
see without himself being seen; where he might shoot without running the
risk of being shot--a not unnatural selection.
Unfortunately for Bill there was a rabbit-faced gamin mounted on a sorry
donkey, who ambled in his rear. When the man from Texas halted at the
little wood three miles outside the town and made a careful
reconnaissance, the rabbit-faced young man was an interested observer.
He duly reported to the Duke.
Now, as the fugitives moved toward the Fez Road, the Duke felt that he
was between the devil and the deep sea. Had he and Hank been alone,
there would have been little or no cause for anxiety. Indeed the
adventure was one of his own seeking, and had been anticipated with some
satisfaction. He remembered this and reproached himself.
Without Alicia there would be no cause for anxiety--it would have been
amusing to have seen Sir Harry under fire. Particularly Bill's fire!
"Look out!" said Hank.
They were nearing the wood, but that was not the cause of Hank's
warning.
Their pursuers had thrown off all pretence of concealment and had come
into the open. The Duke calculated that they numbered thirty in all.
There were three men on their right flank and four on their left, and
the remainder galloped behind.
"They are trying to head us off," said Hank.
"Crack! crack!"
"Firin' from their horses--_that_ won't do much harm."
Sir Harry ducked violently as the bullets began to whine overhead, and
Hal fingered his revolver irresolutely.
The party on the right was now reinforced and were gaining ground. They
swerved still farther away from the little party.
"What is the idea?"
This new manoeuvre was disconcerting.
"Makin' for the wood," said Hank calmly, "it's a hold up, sure."
This evidently was the plan, for as the fugitives struck the uneven
surface of the Fez Road the right and left horns of the pursuing
crescent, converged as by signal upon the wood ahead.
Hank unslung his Winchester.
"There'll be somethin' doin'," he said with conviction. His prophecy
was fulfilled, for scarcely had the last fluttering white _jellab_
disappeared into the plantation than there came a perfect fusilade of
firing.
The Duke looked back.
The Moors in the rear numbered a dozen. He chose his ground.
There was a dry water-course to the right of the road and into this he
led his party.
"Dismount!"
They were off their horses in a trice.
He found a shelter for Alicia.
"Stay there and don't move," he ordered peremptorily. The Moors were
galloping in a circle about the little position.
Firing was going on on all sides, but it was in the wood that it was
heaviest.
Flat on the ground lay Sir Harry Tanneur, dazed, bewildered, horribly
afraid. After a while, "No bullets seem to be coming from the wood?" he
ventured.
The Duke smiled.
"The gentlemen in the wood, have, I should imagine, sufficient to keep
them engaged--Bill Slewer is a mighty handy man with a revolver."
"Good Lord!" said Sir Harry, and the situation began to dawn on him.
"If we can keep our gyrating friends at a distance----" the Duke
continued.
"Dukey!"
It was Hank's urgent summons that sent him to the American's side.
"What are these?"
Hank pointed to the road beyond the copse.
A disordered mob of galloping men were coming toward them.
The Duke looked long and carefully.
"That or those," he said with a sigh, "is the army of His Shereefian
Majesty the Sultan of Morocco."
He looked down into the white face of the girl. "In the words of the
transpontine heroine," he said flippantly, "we are saved!"