Slowly, yet surely, the Croixilians were being driven back. The knights, hampered for want of sword room, were gripped by the ankles by their ferocious foes, who did not hesitate to toss the bodies of their fellow-tribesmen upon the lanceheads of their mail-clad opponents. The archers, unable to loose their shafts for fear of hitting friend as well as foe in the mêlée, could only join in the conflict with their swords and spears. Groans, curses, and cries of pain, triumph, and dismay rose on the night air, mingling with the sharp clash of steel, or the dull swish of swordcut falling upon hide shield or human flesh. Drawing his pistol, Reeves forced his way between the ranks of the men who fringed the scene of conflict. Ten shots he fired, quickly, yet deliberately. None missed its mark. This temporarily cleared a path for Sir Jehan and his hauberk-clad men, and the tide of battle changed. Fighting with a superb courage, that even the Croixilians could not help admiring, the foremost of the Arabs were forced back till they were stopped by the press of those behind. Then, with a gigantic spring, the Moslems charged again, and the ebb of the fortunes of Croixilia began once more. Having discharged his automatic weapon, Reeves discreetly slipped out of the throng, retired to a safe distance, and thrust ten more precious cartridges into the magazine. "What's up with those guns?" he muttered impatiently, for on either side of the breach he could see the walls black with the soldiers of Croixilia. "Hang 'em! Why don't they open fire?" But he soon saw that there was something to be done without asking questions, and once again he dashed into the press, checking the Arab rush as before. "This won't do!" he exclaimed. "Twenty of my precious cartridges gone already, and no permanent good done! If the beggars press another attack as determined as this, it will be touch and go with us. Ugh, you brute!" This last to an apparently-wounded Baggara, who, leaping up from the ground flourishing a keen-bladed spear, rushed straight upon the practically unarmed Englishman. Up went Reeves's pistol; but the son of the desert, once he is enjoying the lust of battle, cares not for a loaded firearm, let alone an empty one. Here was his chance to send an unbeliever on his path to the kingdom of Shaitan, and himself to an assured paradise. Hurling his useless weapon at the Baggara, and missing his shock-haired head by an inch, Reeves threw himself into the approved boxing attitude. But ere the Arab's blade came within striking distance, a man threw himself bodily upon Reeves on his left or blind side. The Englishman, taken completely by surprise, staggered a good half-dozen paces, and finally, tripping over a dead archer, sat half-dazed upon the ground. Even as he sat there he saw a great blade flash in the torchlight, and the Baggara, his hide shield and muscular chest shorn through by a single blow, fell lifeless.