“Begar! if I only had a vehicle,” he groans.

“You shall find one of some sort inside of five minutes and go with me to the scene to rescue my friends, and take them to safety, or you must take the consequences,” and in his excitement John glowers upon the dapper Gaul until the latter actually trembles with trepidation.

“Stop!  I have zink of something.  Zere is one old vehicle in ze shed, laid by for repairs.  By careful handling it would do.”

“Good!  Get horses hitched to it; we must lose no time.  To the rescue, Monsieur Constans.  Ladies have been hurt; they must be taken to the city as speedily as possible.”

The Gaul is excitable by nature, and he catches some of John’s surplus enthusiasm, springs to his feet, and is out of the office door like a shot, shouting almost unintelligible orders to the gang of dirty Arabs who have rushed to the scene upon the advent of a Frank entering the village like a young cyclone and riding a horse that from its harness they recognize as belonging to the stage line.

John, finding they make such poor headway, proceeds to lend his assistance, and under his directions the job is finally completed.

An old stage, even worse than the wrecked one, is brought out, and the horse John rode harnessed to it.  Then a second animal is secured, and after some difficulty about the harness has been adjusted, they are off.

There is, of course, danger that the same catastrophe will happen to them, but the emergency is great, and John handles the reins himself.

Thus through the darkness they proceed, gradually nearing the scene of the disaster.

The nearer they come the more John’s fears arise, though he would find it hard to give good reasons for them, since they rest only upon the words that have been let fall by the dapper little French agent who sits beside him on the box, and holds on for dear life, uttering numerous exclamations, in his explosive way, as they pitch and toss.

A tree looms up.  John recognizes it as a mark which just preceded their overthrow.  Hence, the wrecked stage must lie just beyond, so he pulls in his horse and tries to pierce the darkness that lies like a pall around.

They have at his suggestion brought a lantern along, but of course this is of little use to them as yet.

“What is that cry up on the hill-side?” asks John, as he hears a peculiar sound.

“Monsieur es worry; he need be.  Zat is some rascally jackal or hyena; zey hover around ze villages and do much mischief.  I have seen zem myself carry off one sheep.”

This is not very pleasant intelligence, but John is now engaged in trying to pierce the gloom, and believes he sees some object that may prove to be the wrecked stage.

He sings out with a hail: 

“Ah, there, professor!”

Not a reply; only what seems to be an echo is flung back from the hill-side.