"Shakespere, as a favour, leave this fellow to me, and, with God's help, I shall polish him off as he deserves!" "Shumsheer-hu-dust! (come on, sword in hand). Dog! thy soul shall be under the devil's jaw tonight!" cried the Afghan with fierce defiance, as his horse curveted and pranced. He was Amen Oolah Khan, and a splendid and picturesque figure he presented in his brightly coloured and flaming dress, through the openings of which his shirt and sleeves of the finest chain-mail, bright as silver or frostwork on a winter branch, were visible, and, as Waller knew, impervious to the swords used in our service; at the same time he remembered that his pistols had both been discharged, and were still unloaded. Shakespere reined back his horse, ready, if necessary, to second Waller, to whom he handed a pistol, on the Khan firing a second at him. Thus armed, Waller took a steady aim and fired straight at the head of his antagonist. The latter, to save himself, by a sharp use of the spur and curb, made his horse rear up, so that the bullet entered the throat and spine of the animal, which toppled forward with its head between its knees, just as Amen Oolah was coming to the charge with his lance, the point of which, by the downward sinking of his horse, entered the turf so deeply, that, by the consequent breaking of the shaft, he found himself tumbled ignominiously in a heap from his saddle, and at the mercy of Waller, who, dashing at him, rained blow after blow, without avail, upon his steel cap and mailed shoulders. The sabre of Amen Oolah had been broken in some previous conflict; he had but one weapon left, the long and deadly Afghan knife, which, as a last resort, he had clenched in his teeth, and with this, while uttering a hoarse cry of rage and defiance, mingled with a rancorous malediction, he rushed at Waller, and strove to drag him from his saddle, spitting at him like a viper the while, and adding, exultingly, "Ha!--your women are away to Toorkistan, to be the slaves of the Toorkomans--their slaves of the right hand!" Waller, a finished horseman, was not to be easily dislodged, for he had twice the bulk and strength of his adversary. Twisting the reins round his left arm, he grasped the wrist of the hand which held the menacing knife, and by a single blow of his sword across the fingers, compelled the Khan to drop it. Heavy curses came from his lips, but never once the word _amaun_ (quarter); he knew it would be useless, and he disdained to ask it. No thought of mercy had Waller in his heart, for he knew that if defeated he should have met with none; and on this man's hands there might he, for all he knew, the blood of Mabel Trecarrel, perhaps, of others certainty, and such surmises, at such a time, were maddening.