Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
calendar; he reached up to the long rifle which swung at the side of the pack camel.
They were in the middle of a saucer-like depression in the desert. Ahead of them was a league-long grade, behind them a similar one, which they had just covered. And down this latter slope was coming the heat-distorted shape of the dun racer, with a man upon his back—grotesque as a chimera, a full mile behind, yet looming so huge through the haze that it seemed as though Ibeni would be overtaken in another moment.
He loaded the rifle, calling to the camel to halt, waiting patiently for the pursuer to get within range. He was not greatly afraid; for behind, in Zamara, his warriors would soon be hearing the fusillade and sallying out to his rescue.
The pack camel sheered off to one side; the dun racer came on steadily. Ibeni dropped to his knee, and took aim, resting the long rifle firmly to insure accuracy. Still he waited; still the dun racer neared, growing in size, a huge, splendid target.
A minute passed; now he felt that he might not miss. He fired.
Fruitlessly? For the dun racer continued to approach relentlessly at top speed. He heard the report of a Mauser, and a scream; a quick glance aside showed him that the pack camel had fallen upon its knees, and was threatening to roll upon and crush the woman in its death agony.
That was the last thing his eyes rested upon on earth; O'Rourke fired again, almost at random, risking everything, even the woman he loved, in the necessity of saving her from what was, if not death itself, worse than death.
The Tawarek shrieked piercingly. He sprang suddenly to his feet, throwing out his arms to the brazen sky, as though invoking the aid of Allah. His eyes were glassy; blood
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