"Ya, Allah!" he mouthed, struggling furiously in the grasp of those who held him. "Avenge me of this robber-dog, this vulture-bred coward who only strikes those who are too weak to oppose his numbers. Mahomed Prophet! strike him down into the burning pit of Hawiyat, where his gnawing vitals shall consume for ever and ever." The declamatory voice had risen to a wild scream. Murad Afzul, seated on his camel, had not moved throughout the whole scene. Now he spoke. "So thou art the son of Mahomed Jan, that Waziri thief and enemy of Allah?" he said, gazing down upon his would-be slayer. "Allah is great and His Prophet has rendered thee as unskilful in the use of weapons as others of thy kind. Well, ye twain, father and son, have been parted long enough, so now thou shalt join thine in Jehanum, yet not at once, for I think I will show thee some foretaste of its fires here." He signed to those who held the frantic man--then something in the aspect of the latter caused him to change his intention. For he recognised that the Waziri's mind had given way, in short, that he had become a frenzied maniac, and to harm him as such would be clean contrary to all tribal tradition and sanction. Yet he had no intention of letting him off scot free. "I will spare him the fire," he said, "for of that he will have plenty. So--shorten him by the head." Willing feet sprang to do his bidding. Willing hands seized the mouthing, cursing maniac, who by dint of a camel halter was forced to stretch forth his neck. Then the flash of a keen tulwar in the air, and the deluging, headless corpse was writhing and squirming right at Tarleton's feet. Tarleton, surgeon though he was, turned sick at the horrid sight, the more so that in all probability it presaged his own fate. The voice of Murad Afzul recalled him to this. "You have seen, Feringhi. Now, that is thy fate, if my question is unanswered. Where is Raynier?" Tarleton looked at the gushing, headless corpse, then at the stern, uncompromising countenance of the chief. He noted, too, the eager, cruel visages of those around, who seemed to hang upon his answer. Life was as good to him as to anybody else, nor did he feel the least inclination to part with it at that moment. Besides, what would become of his wife, now lying unconscious in the tent behind him, if left alone and at the mercy of these ruthless barbarians? Haslam was dead, and thus no one need ever know, for no one was left to witness against him, and if ever there was a case of "every man for himself" this was surely it. So he replied,-- "He has gone to visit Sarbaland Khan." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. "BETTER THAN NOTHING." "What has happened?" said Hilda, quickly, gazing from one to the other, and then at the dead man who lay a little way off. "Our camp has been rushed by Ghazis, and they are in possession." "But--has there been a fight? Have they killed anybody?"