Mile after mile, mile after mile, they sped onwards over that vast expanse, the women clinging as best they might to the pommels, the Colonel almost as spent as they, but still keenly on the look-out for any sign of the pursuers.
"I think.

.

.

I think," cried Mrs.Belmont, "that something is moving in front of us." The Colonel raised himself upon his saddle, and screened his eyes from the moonshine.
"By Jove, you're right there, ma'am.

There are men over yonder." They could all see them now, a straggling line of riders far ahead of them in the desert.
"They are going in the same direction as we," cried Mrs.Belmont, whose eyes were very much better than the Colonel's.
Cochrane muttered an oath into his moustache.
"Look at the tracks there," said he; "of course, it's our own vanguard who left the palm grove before us.