ing out with her cubs on
the nocturnal quest of prey. The mother was instantly answered by the
beseeching cry of her young. The four horses of the sentinels shied,
their manes bristled; the scream of the leopardess came nearer,
and all four of the strangers--they had probably never heard such a
sound--turned in the direction of the noise. One of the horses reared
violently, the rider swayed, clinging to its mane; another, trying to
help him, snatched at the bridle, his bow falling from his hand.
Profiting by the confusion of the moment, we glided forward in perfect
silence from behind the sand-hill. We had wrapped cloth around the
horses' hoofs, and almost reached them unseen; not until we were close
by the fire did one of the mounted men discover us. 'Foes!' he shouted,
darting away. The other rider followed. The third did not reach the
saddle; I struck him down as he was mounting. But the fourth--this man
here, the leader--was on his horse's back in an instant; he ran down
the two Moors who tried to stop him, and would have escaped, but
Ammata--our child"--he pointed to the boy; the captive gnashed his
teeth furiously--"shot after him like an arrow on his little white
steed--"

"Pegasus!" Ammata interrupted. "You know, brother, you brought him to
me from the last Moorish war. He really goes as though he had wings."

"--reached him, and before any one of us could lend assistance, with a
swift double thrust--"

"You taught me, Gelimer!" cried Ammata, with sparkling eyes, for he
could no longer restrain himself.

"--of the short-sword, he thrust the enemy's long spear aside and dealt
him a heavy blow on the cheek. But the brave fellow, heedless of the
pain, dropped the spear and gripped the battle-axe in his belt. Then
our child threw the noose around his neck--"

"You know--the antelope cast!" Ammata exclaimed to Gelimer.

"And with a jerk dragged him from his horse."

Gibamund spoke in the Vandal tongue, but the captive understood
everything from the accompanying gestures, and now shrieked in the
Latin of the camp, "May my father's soul pass into a dog if that be not
avenged! I, the great-grandson of Attila--I--dragged from my horse by a
boy--with a noose! Beasts are caught thus, not warriors!"

"Calm yourself, my little friend," replied Thrasaric, approaching him.
"There is a good old motto among all the Gothic nations: 'Spare the
wolf rather than the Hun.' Besides, that royal bird, the ostrich, is
captured