David's sword swept down, and a turbaned head was gashed by a mortal stroke.

As he swung towards another horseman, who had struck down a defender of the trenches, an Arab raised himself in his saddle and flung a lance with a cry of terrible malice; but, even as he did so, a bullet from Lacey's pistol pierced his shoulder.

The shot had been too late to stop the lance, but sufficient to divert its course.

It caught David in the flesh of the body under the arm--a slight wound only.

A few inches to the right, however, and his day would have been done.
The remaining Arabs turned and fled.