One of their number screamed a command, and they made a combined rush.
He fired both barrels into their midst, clubbed his rifle and jumped
forward. That was good generalship, of the sort dear to the heart of
his great ancestor. At the first tremendous sweep of his weapon he
broke off its stock against an Arab's body. That did not matter. The
heavy barrels were staunch, and iron deals harder blows than wood. He
was active as a cat, and had the strength of any four of his
adversaries. With lightning-like whirls he smote them so resolutely
that when five were laid low the rest broke, and ran. He actually
pursued them, and brought down two more, before he stumbled over the
body of one whom he had shot.
And that ended the fight. He heard men scrambling over the rocks in
panic, and he knew by the grunting and groaning of distant camels that
all the _kafila_ had stampeded. Searching the fallen man at his feet,
he found a full cartridge-belt and rifle. He took them, lest there
should be further need, but did not relinquish the trusty weapon which
had more than equalized an unequal combat.
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