as he was going to pull he got a
violent shock on the hip, which disconcerted his aim; and perhaps that
was lucky for Macintosh, whom he had got nicely at the end of his fore-
sight Kavanagh had hardly fired, however, and had not time to open the
breach and put another cartridge into his rifle, before he heard a noise
in the cavern-temple behind him, and, turning sharply, saw a figure with
a sword in the right-hand and a shield on the left arm, literally
bounding towards him.

The Arab must have been concealed behind one of the figures, or in a
recess which had escaped the explorer's notice, and, not possessing
fire-arms himself, had not chosen to attack while his enemy's rifle was
certain to be loaded; but directly he heard him fire he seized his
opportunity with the promptitude of a really good soldier, and went for
him before he could re-load.

Kavanagh brought his weapon down to the charge and waited for him, and
now a really interesting set-to began, and it was a pity there was no
one to witness it. The Arab, a fanatic fakir, approached with his
shield well advanced, and his sword, which a man might have shaved with,
in his strong right-hand, watching for an opening. He made a cut;
Kavanagh turned it with his bayonet and re-posted. The thrust was
parried by the shield, but the force of it made the Arab stagger back.

Kavanagh followed, feinted low, and when the shield went down delivered
the point over the top of it, just touching his opponent's chest, who
saved his life by jumping back with a slight wound. Kavanagh followed
further into the cavern. Each now knew that the other was not to be
trifled with, and they circled round, eyes glaring into eyes, trying to
draw on an attack, the statues around looking straight before them,
heedless witnesses of the conflict. Kavanagh feinted again, but the
Arab was not to be caught by the same trick a second time, and instead
of warding the thrust seized that moment to make a dash and a cut, and
his sword bit deeply into the other's side, cutting through bandolier
and kharkee into the flesh.

Kavanagh, wounded, but not disabled, at the same moment dashed his
rifle, held across, into his opponent's face, and as he staggered back
darted his bayonet at him over the shield, piercing his shoulder. Yet
he could still swing his right arm, still wield his razor-edged weapon.

And still they faced each other, bleeding freely. Kavanagh had this in
his mind fixedly, that if