, for the chances of
his doing anything to help her in such a case were few and far between.

"What can we do, Mustapha? We are bold and determined, still we are only
three against an army. The odds are great."

"Ah! monsieur, it might be beyond our power to overcome the fighters of
Bab Azoun by force, but there are other ways."

"Thank Heaven, yes."

"The battle is not always to the strong, nor the race to the swift."

"He speaks like ze prophet," murmurs Monsieur Constans, gazing upon the
sublime face and magnificent figure of the Arab courier with something
that partakes of the nature of awe.

"True, we are three--they are forty. If we venture to attack we will
meet death. That is very good; death comes to all men, and the Koran
teaches us that the brave who die in battle, with their faces toward the
foe, are transported immediately to paradise. That is why the followers
of Mohammed never know fear in a battle. But if we die, what then
becomes of those in the hands of Bab Azoun?"

"Ay, what indeed?" mournfully.

"Therefore, to save them, monsieur, we must try to live."

"It ees good; we will live," echoes the Gaul.

"And rescue the prisoners of the desert tiger."

"How far away are these deserted mines?"

"About a mile."

"Among the hills on this side of the plain known as Metidja?"

"It is even so, illustrious Frank, on a line with that snowy peak, Djara
Djura, which towers above the Atlas Mountains."

"Your plan, Mustapha--speak, for I know you have been considering it."

The courier places his hand on his chest and bows. Praise delights
even the tympanum of an Arab, and flattery gains favors in the most
unexpected quarter.

"_Ciel!_ we are in the agony of suspense," declares the Frenchman, never
once taking his eyes off the Arab's face.

"Great is Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet. I am but as a grain of
sand on the sea-shore. Let the praise be his."

With this preliminary, Mustapha Cadi gives his plan of action briefly.

It was his intention to go to Al Jezira, to seek the French commandant
at the barracks known as the Kasbah, and give him the information
concerning Bab Azoun.

It has long been the ambition of the various French generals stationed
in Algeria to kill or capture the notorious desert prince who for years
has defied their power, suddenly making a bold dash upon some point,
and, leaving smoking ruins in his wake, as mysteriously vanish.

Again and again have they sought to