Diana, too, glanced behind her, and mechanically her
fingers closed over the shining little weapon that the Sheik had given
her the previous week. She saw with a sudden sickening the six men who
had formed her escort beaten back by the superior numbers that enclosed
them on every side. Already two were down and the rest were on foot,
and, as she watched, they were swallowed up in the mass of men that
poured over them, and, at the same time, a party of about twenty
horsemen detached themselves from the main body and galloped towards
her and Gaston.
She seized his arm. "Can't we do something? Can't we help them? We
can't leave them like that," she gasped, wrenching the revolver from
the holster at her waist.
"No, no, Madame, it is impossible. It is a hundred to six. You must
think of yourself. Go on, Madame. For God's sake, ride on. We may have
a chance." He loosed her bridle and dropped behind her, interposing
himself between her and the pursuing Arabs. A fierce yelling and a hail
of bullets that went wide made Diana turn her head as she crouched low
in the saddle. She realised the meaning of Gaston's tactics and checked
her horse deliberately.
"I won't go first. You must ride with me," she cried, wincing as a
bullet went close by her.
"_Mon Dieu!_ What are you stopping for? Do you think I can face
Monseigneur if anything happens to you, Madame?" replied Gaston
fiercely.
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