Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 379: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

372 THE ARGOSY. Thicker and faster now the cannons along the ridges threw fire and devas- tation into the dervish ranks. Across the khor the battery of Gardner guns poured a cataract of cross fire. The two fugitives dashed forward in the dark- ness. Bardoff clutched in one hand a white rag, which he intended at the right moment to wave to the English if that moment ever came. In the other he held his sword, resolved to cut down the first man who stayed them on their fight of life and death. CHAPTER XXXIV.—ON THE THRESHOLD OF FREEDOM. SUDDENLY Bardoff felt a clutch upon his shoulder and a backward lurch, which all but snatched him from his feet. Turning, he was amazed to confront the very guard whom he had sent to interview the commander, Osman Digna. There was a look of keen triumph upon the fellow’s swarthy visage. Dog of a Russian infidel,” he cried, “ the messengers have arrived from the emir, Mamud el Fiki. Your time has come. The grand commander wants you. He has ordered us to bring you, dead or alive. Which shall it be?” Bardoff had swung loose from Dorothy and drawn his sword with a backward movement, which the guard did not see. The latter was about to shout to the other pursuers when a swift lunge broke the cry into something like the yelp of a jackal. The man had apparently dodged the blow, for the blade grazed his straw cap as he dropped, and all but wrenched the prince’s arm from the socket; but in the ankle deep sand he lay perfectly still. In the tempest of battle Bardoff bent and saw that the man’s neck had been partially torn away by an explosive bullet. He seized Dorothy’s hand, and on they ran, till finally they gained the north flank of the field, their other pursuers having sped by them like a whirlwind. They both suddenly stumbled in the dark over a dead camel, and Dorothy crouched close to the still warm body to keep from being trodden or- run down by the cavalry coming up in the rear. She put forth her hand and seized that of her comrade. It was strangely cold. Then she bent over him and spoke, but there came no answer. Her heart stopped beating for an in- stant. Things blurred and danced before her eyes. Creeping closer to her fallen comrade, she managed to turn his face so that she could look into it; and when she did, she bowed down and rested her own against it. Dead? He was dead! For a long time she lay with her face against her comrade’s, unable to stir. Then she arose. “ Dead!” she whispered, but the voice seemed not her own. She forgot liberty, the English lines, the shrieking dervishes, everything. She thought only of him—her friend, her rescuer, her hero. She looked up. A shell plowed up the ridge and all but buried them both in a deluge of sand. She struggled but sank back. She wanted to get into the range of the bullets—to invite them, beckon them. Her strength was gone. . Another battery was hurrying by from the rear, the nearest gun drawn by COMIC OOOlKKS. CO