What was that on the far sand dunes? On those slightly higher hills? A sudden, quick uptossing movement, and then nothing further. He gazed fixedly at the spot, but without reward. A sudden shout from Ali recalled Jack to his surroundings. Great Scott, what was that! Yes, Ali’s camel had stumbled and pitched to its knees, and Ali had been thrown forward onto the sand. And the ostrich! What in the world was it doing? “Lie down, Ali, lie down,” screamed Jack, remembering his father’s warning of what a man must do if attacked by an ostrich. For the great bird which Ali had been pursuing had turned in wild fury and was dashing headlong for the fallen man, literally skimming the earth, seeming to touch it only at long intervals. Jack knew the ostrich cannot use its wings to fly, and employs them only to aid to pivot and make sharp turnings or to bring its body to a sudden halt. But the great bounds made by the creature gave it the semblance of flight. Jack’s face went white. Ali’s camel had scrambled to its feet and was heading back across the desert toward the distant oasis. Ali lay still, outspread on his face. Was he knocked out by the fall, or had he adopted the customary attitude of hunters when attacked by an ostrich? Jack could not tell. One more swoop the ostrich took, and then it folded its great legs beneath it and sat down on Ali’s body. Only the man’s feet and lower legs projected. The big bird’s body covered even his head, and Jack knew he must act quickly or Ali would be smothered. He was less than a thousand yards distant and well within the range of his Winchester, but so nervous was Jack, his hands shook so much, that he decided to approach closer before venturing a shot. As he moved up, the ostrich began to hiss. A strange hissing note it was, with the beak not opened and the air from the bird’s lungs swelling its throat and flowing over the vocal organs. Still it continued to maintain its position on Ali. Now was the time. Jack knew it was up to him to save Ali’s life, and the thought exerted a steadying influence. He lifted his rifle, took careful aim, and pressed the trigger. He had aimed not at the body, for he feared that, unless struck in the heart, the ostrich would not be killed. Then it would writhe convulsively, and its movements would increase Ali’s danger. Instead, he aimed at the small head. The next moment, he saw the head droop like the head of a flower broken from the stem but still hanging by a shred. Then the great bird fell over on its side, and twitched while its long legs kicked convulsively. Ali rolled quickly away, turning over and over, instead of first regaining his feet. By the time Jack arrived, Ali was on his feet and composedly shaking sand from his burnoose and straightening his turban. The swarthy face with its gleaming black eyes and black mustache, was filled with gratitude as Jack approached. “You saved my life,” said Ali. “I’ll not forget.”