“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 us,” he says, hastily.

Lady Ruth shudders when she sees one of the Arabs endeavoring to stanch a wound in his shoulder.  There is no mimic war here, it is evident.

When they start in a little squad, it is with a faint hope of making such progress that the enemy must give up the pursuit; but almost immediately John discovers something that gives him uneasiness.

His horse staggers.  It is evident that the beast has been struck with a flying piece of lead, and is about to fall under him.

The doctor says nothing, and hopes his absence may not be noticed by the flying column, but, as it happens, when the catastrophe does occur, all of them see it.

Fortunately John clears himself just in time, and reaches the ground in safety.  Lady Ruth pulls in her horse.

“You must not stop!” cries John; “urge your horses on—­fly while you have time.  I hear them coming!”

He tries to start Lady Ruth’s nag, but she pulls on the lines.

“I decline to run and leave you here, Doctor Chicago,” she says, resolutely.

“But you must go,” he declares.

“Nonsense!” breaks in Philander.  “Here’s room for you, John.  Jump up.”