an
expression of surprise. At that moment the moon came out as if
expressly for the purpose of throwing light on the dusty, blood-stained,
and cadaverous visage of the Turk.

Jacob Lancey, although a brave man, was superstitious. On beholding the
yellow countenance and glaring eyeballs turned full upon him, he uttered
a yell of deadly terror, turned sharp round and fled, stumbling over
stumps and stones in his blind career. The Don Cossacks heard the yell,
and made for the spot. Lancey saw them coming, doubled, and eluded
them. Perceiving only a wounded man sitting on the ground, the foremost
Cossack levelled his lance and charged. Ali Bobo's stare of surprise
developed into a glare of petrified consternation. When the Cossack
drew near enough to perceive an apparently dead man sitting up in his
grave, he gave vent to a hideous roar of horror, turned off at a
tangent, and shot away into the bushes. Those in rear, supposing that
he had come on an ambuscade, followed his example, and, in another
moment, Ali Bobo was left alone to his moonlight reflections.

That these were of a perplexing nature was evident from his movements.
Allowing his eyes to resume their ordinary aspect, he looked round him
with a troubled expression, while his fingers played slowly with the
loose earth that still covered his legs. Then he shook his head, after
that he scratched it, and put on his fez, which had fallen off.
Finding, apparently, that meditation was of no avail, he finally heaved
a deep sigh, rose, shook off the dust, picked up his rifle and marched
away.

He had not gone far when he came upon Lancey, who, having fled with such
haste that he could scarcely breathe, had been fain to lie down and rest
for a few minutes. Hearing a step behind him, he started up. One
glance sufficed. The dead Turk again! With another horrific howl he
plunged headlong into the nearest thicket and disappeared.

A humorous smile stole over the features of Ali Bobo as he began to
understand the situation. He searched the thicket, but his late
companion was not to be found. Continuing his march, therefore, he
travelled all night. Next morning he found his detachment, and
introduced himself to his friend Eskiwin, whose astonishment, I need
scarcely say, was great, but his joy was greater.

Ali Bobo's wounds turned out after all to be slight, and were not
permitted by him to interfere long with his service in the field.

CHAPTER SIXTEE