CHAPTER XXX. THE MAHDI’S JUSTICE. “Fighting, and you here? Why are not you at the head of the Mahdi’s friends?” “I--stayed--with you.” “Come! where is my sword?” “It is here; but don’t go out. You will be killed--the soldiers wouldn’t join the Mahdi, and they are shooting the people down.” “Give me my Winchester and my sword.” “It is madness.” “Well, I am the madcap,” laughed Max; “but if I wasn’t I’d scorn to be a coward.” “A coward?” “Yes, I said so, and I repeat--a coward.” “Why do you call me that? I have fought in the army of Egypt.” “Perhaps so. But did you not stir up this riot and are now afraid----” “I am not afraid; but is it policy to risk so much?” “Risk all--if by that means you save your honor.” “But the people have no chance against the soldiers.” “All the more reason why you should not desert them.” “See what it means to me--loss of property, perhaps life.” “Do as you like, most excellent Shula, but I am going to fight.” “It is madness!” “Give me my rifle and my sword.” Max seized the weapons and rushed into the street. He saw the rioting, and felt that Shula was right--the people had but scant chance. That made Max all the more determined. He waved his sword above his head and rushed into the thickest of the fight. “Long live the Mahdi!” At the sight of the paleface the soldiers fell back. “I am an American,” shouted Max, “but I am with you. The Mahdi is a native of your country, he is no foreigner. Strike for him, and let your cry be Egypt for the Egyptian, the Soudan for the Soudanese!” The people lost their fear. Like demons they sprang on the soldiers, but the soldiers did not return the fire. Instead, they reversed their guns and retired. The Egyptian officer was enraged. “I’ll shoot the first man who deserts!” he shouted. A number of the soldiers again shouldered arms, but the majority kept them reversed. Max saw the advantage he had gained. He caught the bridle of a horse whose rider had fallen in the mêlée. Vaulting into the saddle, he looked proud and defiant as he sat there, like a veritable centaur. “Soldiers, you believe in Mahomet! Hark ye! I have fought with the great Mahdi. I have seen the thousands of Fashoda beaten back when he waved his wand. He has no need of sword or scimiter; he fights with his eyes, and when he waves his hand, armies fall back.” The enthusiasm was great. Max had won over most of the soldiers, and the others were undecided. The officer was furious. “Ready!” he shouted, but very few of his men obeyed the call. “Load! Aim! Fire!” Half a dozen rifle shots were fired, but Max saw to his great joy that the aim was too high to do any damage. “Men! soldiers of the crescent!” he called out, “our fight is not against you. The Mahdi is of your faith. Nay, more, he will restore the great Mameluke kingdom. Every soldier of his will be greater than a pasha, for the Mahdi is the last of the Mamelukes.”