nly half of that number can be seen.

The remainder have mysteriously disappeared. Things seem to be working
to suit the desperate plans of the veteran Zulu fighter, and he will
soon be in a condition to open the engagement.

There will doubtless be a battle. John is lost in admiration of the
genius that could prepare such a scene, such a triumph. He does not
anticipate that even if the Briton is successful in his plans, he will
carry the heart of Lady Ruth by storm.

"We must move," whispers Mustapha.

"Why?" asks John, desiring enlightenment.

"So as to be ready to take a hand in the grand affair," is the reply.

Up to this moment it has not occurred to the young man from Chicago that
he may be in a position to profit by this peculiar situation.

He smiles with the idea.

"Mustapha, I leave all in your hands. Do with me as you please."

"Then come."

They quit the cleft, using great caution to prevent discovery. The
plans of the Arabian guide are soon made manifest, for he signifies his
intention of securing a sentry who paces up and down outside the old
mine.

If he were a baby he could not have made less resistance. John would
have been amazed only that he has been forewarned. It is not the guard's
policy to attempt an outcry--undoubtedly he has had his orders.

"Well?" says Mustapha, after the fellow has been tied up, and prevented
from making an outcry.

"I believe we can capture the whole outfit at that rate. I feel equal to
twenty myself. They must have taken some drug; they have no more life
than a mummy from the pyramids."

The Arab grins as though he enjoys the joke.

"It is coming, prepare to see the mighty Frank's wonderful work."

Even as he speaks, they hear loud shouts within the old mine--shouts
that would indicate an upheaval--shouts from Arab lips, that echo from
the Kabyle throats.

They seem to indicate astonishment--fear.

Above them rises the bellow of a Briton, rushing to the fray with the
eagerness of an infuriated bull.

Oh, it is grand!--it is beautiful to see that one man hurl himself on
half a dozen! Fear--he knows not the meaning of the word it seems--his
opponents monopolize that.

John, looking in, is delighted with the spectacle, and laughs to himself
as he sees how remarkably deadly are all Sir Lionel's shots. A man falls
every time he pulls trigger; if he rushes at a fellow, so great is the
fear his awful presence inspires that the wretched Arab sinks down and