g must be done, that is certain, beyond all peradventure, and
John quickly grasps the situation. There is no disease that does not
have its remedy, and he finds a loop-hole of escape here.

As they gallop along they come to a structure built upon the
road-side--a singular affair it was once upon a time, being made of
stone. John recognizes features that tell him this deserted place was
once a holy spot, the tomb of a _marabout_, or saint, built in a manner
to suit the taste of the departed.

It has been long deserted, as too public, and the holy relics moved to
some more secluded tomb within the walls of the cemetery on the high
hill of Bouzareah.

This is their chance.

To continue the race means positive overhauling and doubtless death,
while by accepting the chance that fortune has thrown in their way
they may keep their enemies at bay until aid comes, for John has not
forgotten the mission of Monsieur Constans.

He calls a halt, and briefly explains his plans. All of them see
that the horses they ride are not in the race when compared with the
magnificent steeds of their pursuers, and recognizing the fact that what
John suggests is probably the best thing to be done under the existing
circumstances, they quickly dismount.

The horses are then started along the road in the hope that they will
lure the pursuers on while the little party pass through the opening,
and enter the quaint building, once the resting-place of a holy
Mohammedan's bones.

CHAPTER XX.

THE COMING OF THE FRENCH ZOUAVES.

Perhaps Mustapha Cadi, as a true Mohammedan, may have a certain amount
of respect for this odd tomb of a _marabout_, but, as the saint's bones
have been removed, he has no hesitation about making a fort out of the
rocky recess.

When all have entered he closes the opening. The door is broken, but
there are many loose stones around that can be made to serve.

There is no time just now to use them, for the rush of horses' hoofs are
heard up the road, as the men of Bab Azoun come racing along, intent
upon overhauling the fugitives.

They sweep past the rocky tomb like a young cyclone; it is a spectacle
none of those who gaze upon it will ever forget. The moonlight renders
it perfectly plain, and they can even see the savage expression of each
Arab face as the riders dash by.

Now they are gone, and Mustapha begins to pile up the rocks against the
door.

The others see what he is about, and immediately assi