“Fight thine own battles with Al Zagal,” said Cedi Mohammed Ibn Amar; “I will have no traitor for ally.” The youth, nevertheless, profited by the dark envoy’s useful information, and disseminated it industriously throughout his camp. In the night, the castle gates having been thrown open, a band of horsemen passed the drawbridge stealthily with muffled hoofs, formed into rank, and placed their captives in the centre, intending to burst in their old way with a sudden cry upon the sleeping enemy. “By the beard of my father,” said Al Zagal, “we will yet teach the shepherds what it is to have a lion at bay.” He had not long spoken before the lances of the shepherds came upon him, and lances of his own troops also were turned against him. Seeing that he was betrayed, he closed with those men who were faithful to him round the captives, and endeavored to regain the castle; but the enemy possessed the path. There was a terrible fight, and Cedi Mohammed riding high among the torches, friends fought against friends, emirs, splendidly caparisoned on Arab steeds, engaged with half-clad members of the black band, on wiry mountain ponies. Al Zagal, through the tumult and the torch-light fighting desperately, succeeded with a few followers in forcing a way with Lindora back into the castle, of which a large part was already in the hands of the besiegers. He secured Lindora in a secret room, and then descending through dark vaults and passages to a magazine that had long been prepared for any such occasion, added arson to his other crimes. The savage horror of the scene was at its highest as the flames leaped their highest up into the night. The red blaze was a pleasant beacon-fire to men who, waking up by chance in distant places, said it must be the Black Castle that was then on fire, and so there would be peace again upon their tents now that the Black Castle was destroyed. But among the blazing ruins the strife still went on. The band of Al Zagal had their lives to sell, and valued their lives dearly. “There is one chance more,” said Al Zagal to a gigantic black who had been unhorsed in the struggle; “let us mount the first horses we can get, and we may yet escape beyond the mountains into Rif.” Al Zagal had soon forced an emir from his charger, and was darting from the castle when the dark envoy confronted him. “Know me!” the chief said, “I am Al Zagal.” But the dark envoy struck him, bidding him die like a dog; and after a great struggle he did die, like a brave dog, fighting gallantly. But the dark envoy had fought for Lindora, and had made Lindora his war-cry in the act of treason. Down there came, therefore, in wrath, upon the head of the dark envoy the sword of Cedi Mohammed Ibn Amar. There was another desperate encounter, and I suppose no shrewdness could discover which of the two combatants was killed.