who these worthies are.

Lady Ruth is the first to exclaim:

"Why, it is John Craig."

"He will be killed, see these fellows getting ready to fire. John, take
care!" and Aunt Gwen, in her eager desire to warn the doctor, waves her
hands in the air, one of them grasping a fluttering white kerchief.

They hear the cry, they see the signal, and their eyes take in the line
of dusky warriors that awaits their coming.

"Down, monsieur!" exclaims Mustapha.

Not a second too soon do they drop upon the necks of their horses,
for a blinding flash comes from the men of Bab Azoun, a flash that is
accompanied by a roar, and a hail-storm of lead sweeps through the space
occupied by the forms of John Craig and his guide just a brief interval
before.

"Charge!" cries Craig, rising in his seat, his face white with the
strange battle spirit, his right hand clutching a weapon.

Then comes a scene of action that is totally unlike the one preceding
it, for now both sides are in deadly earnest, and the battle is a royal
one, indeed.

When Craig fires he aims to diminish the number of his foes. Sometimes
a rearing horse gets the benefit of the flying lead.

For the space of a minute or so the utmost confusion reigns. At first
the string of horses that the bold Craig and his guide were running away
with, becomes a feature in the scene, prancing and shrilly neighing.
Then they break and scatter in many directions.

There were six Arabs originally in the party, but Philander knocked one
_hors de combat_ with the tremendous whack of a gun he snatched from its
keeper.

Another drops from his horse before the fire of Doctor Chicago, and
Mustapha, who handles a yataghan with marvelous dexterity, actually
cleaves a third to the chin with the keen blade.

There is a brief but exceedingly lively engagement between the survivors
and the Franks; but the tide of battle is with the strangers in Algiers.

Wounded and fairly beaten, the three raiders at last whirl their horses
and dash madly away. Perhaps they are wise. It sometimes takes Sir
Lionel a little while to get in motion, but that great fire-eater is
about ready to enter the engagement at the time they fly, thus showing
rare wisdom.

The field is won.

John hears the shouts of the pursuers close by, while sharp whistles
sound, signals which are meant for the stray horses, loose from the
kraal, which they are bound to obey.

"We must make use of every second. They will be after