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.