"I won't go first. You must ride with me," she cried, wincing as a
bullet went close by her.
"Mon Dieu! What are you stopping for? Do you think I can face
Monseigneur if anything happens to you, Madame?" replied Gaston
fiercely. "Do as I tell you. Go on!" Deference was gone in the fear
that roughened his voice.
He looked back and his face grew grey. For himself he had no fear, but
for the girl beside him he dared not even think. They were Ibraheim
Omair's men who had trapped them, and he cursed his folly in allowing
Diana to come so far. Yet it had seemed safe enough. The scout's
reports had lately proved that the robber Sheik had up to now respected
the boundary line between the two territories. This must be a sudden
tentative raid which had met with unlooked-for success. The bait would
be too tempting to allow of any slackening on the part of the raiders.
The white woman, who was Ahmed Ben Hassan's latest toy, and his
servant, whom he was known to value so highly, would be a prize that
would not be lightly let go. For himself it would be probably torture,
certainly death, and for her----! He set his teeth as he looked at her
and the perspiration poured down his face. He would kill her himself
before it came to that. And as he looked she turned her head, and met
his agonised eyes for a moment, smiling bravely. He had refrained up
till now from shooting, trying to reserve his ammunition for a last
resource, but he saw that he must delay no longer. He fired slowly and
steadily, picking his men with careful precision. It was a forlorn
hope, but by checking the leaders even for a few moments he might gain
time. The accuracy of his aim, that every time proved effectual, might
keep back the onrush until they got clear of the undulating country,
until they got out into the open where the sounds of the firing might
reach some of the outpost sentinels, until they got too near to the
Sheik's camp for pursuit to be possible. The bullets pattered
continuously round them, but the men who fired them were not Ahmed Ben
Hassan's carefully trained marksmen. But still Gaston knew that their
position was almost hopeless. Any moment a bullet might reach one of
them.
Their pursuers, too, seemed to guess his thoughts and opened out into
an irregular, extended line, swerving and manoeuvring continually,
making accurate shooting impossible, while they urged their horses to a
terrific pace trying to outflank them. Diana was shooting now. The
thought of her escort's annihilation and her own and Gaston's peril had
overcome the reluctance she had had at first, and she had even a moment
to wonder at her coolness. She did not feel afraid, the death of
Ahmed's men had made her angry, a fierce revengeful anger that made her
see red and filled her with a desire to retaliate in kind. She fired
rapidly, emptying her revolver, and she had just reloaded with steady
fingers when The Dancer stumbled, recovering himself for a few steps,
and then lurched slowly over on to his side, blood pouring from his
mouth. Diana sprang clear, and in a moment Gaston was beside her,
thrusting her behind him, shielding her with his own body, and firing
steadily at the oncoming Arabs.