Part 6 (1/2)

The boy's only weapon was a flint knife, and that was almost useless in fighting a foe armed with a razor-edged sword.

Dan gave a despairing shout for help as he saw d.i.c.k Oakwood galloping toward him, and dodged the blow of the scimiter, missing it by such a close margin that the steel whizzed past his ear with a swis.h.i.+ng sound.

”Attaboy, Dan!”

At d.i.c.k's cry of encouragement, Dan saw the Arab suddenly reel back in the saddle, fling up both arms and slump to the ground in a heap. d.i.c.k had no weapon but the rope, but he had learned to use the lariat as well as any cowboy.

The loop had dropped over the Bedouin's body, and as d.i.c.k wheeled his horse the Arab was dragged from the saddle and pulled across the desert until he was stunned and helpless.

At this, Dan let out a great shout of relief.

”Hooray, d.i.c.k! Fine work!” and he started hot-foot for safety, helping the wounded Kurt as best he could.

They were far from safe, however, for though the two Arabs were disposed of, there were others who had seen what was going on and were heading that way.

d.i.c.k rode up to his friends and bending low in the saddle, he seized Kurt under the arms.

”Help me give him a lift, Dan,” he cried, and the next moment Kurt was lifted bodily upon the horse ahead of d.i.c.k, while the latter directed his friend:

”Grab the stirrup, Dan! Now run like blazes! There they come!”

Dan s.n.a.t.c.hed at the stirrup and as d.i.c.k urged his horse to flight he seemed to be flying through the air. Every time he raised his foot for a forward step, he was pulled ahead by the rush of the horse and his flight was a series of leaps that carried him forward like a kangaroo.

”Gee whizz!” he gasped. ”This is grand if I can keep it up! I feel like a giant gra.s.shopper!”

Over his head whizzed the bullets of the galloping Arabs, who were joining in the chase, and the cliffs ahead seemed very far away.

d.i.c.k encouraged his friend to keep up.

”Watch your step, Dan. Keep going for a minute longer and you're safe!”

The dust rose about them in a cloud. Dan's mouth was parched and dry.

His lips seemed to be cracking and his eyes full of grit, but he hung to the stirrup for all he was worth, struggling desperately to keep from falling.

It was like the end of a Marathon run, with every ounce of his strength put forth by sheer will power to keep from giving up the race. But the difference was that if he should lose the race, he would lose his life as well.

Half dazed and almost blinded by the dust, Dan suddenly felt the horse stop and he plunged forward in a heap. ”This is my finish,” he thought. ”I'm a goner, sure!”

He lay there panting, expecting in the next moment to feel a bullet crash into his body, but instead, he was picked up by friendly hands and revived with splashes of cool water over his face and head.

”Quick! Give him a drink!” he heard d.i.c.k command and the next instant a gourd of water was put to his lips and Dan gulped it eagerly.

”Where are we?” he asked, wiping his eyes and looking around in a half daze.

”At the Big Spring,” said d.i.c.k. ”We're safe here, but only for a few minutes. The Taharans are standing off the Arabs with their bows and arrows at the last line of defense.”

While he spoke d.i.c.k was busily engaged in was.h.i.+ng the dirt from Kurt's bleeding shoulder.

”Quick, a piece of cloth!” he said. ”This needs a bandage.”