The raiders were caught in an ambuscade.
The Emir fell, but was up again and waving.

There was a splotch of blood upon his long white beard.

He kept pointing and gesticulating, but his scattered followers could not understand what he wanted.
Some of them came tearing down the pass, and some from behind were pushing to the front.

A few dismounted and tried to climb up sword in hand to that deadly line of muzzles, but one by one they were hit, and came rolling from rock to rock to the bottom of the ravine.
The shooting was not very good.

One negro made his way unharmed up the whole side, only to have his brains dashed out with the butt-end of a Martini at the top.