At his heels came the six men who had, up to this point, been
standing in a group near their horses.
Without hesitation, Dick drew out one of his single-barrelled pistols
and shot the pretended trader, whose turban had saved him from the
effect of the blow, and who, shouting loudly to his companions, was
struggling to his feet. The remaining eight men had all drawn their
swords, and were rushing upon them.
"Fire, Surajah!" Dick shouted. "Are you asleep, man?"
Surajah was not asleep, but he was confused by the suddenness of the
fray, and was still doubtful whether Dick had not made an entirely
unprovoked attack upon the strangers. However, he perceived that it
was now too late to discuss that point, and was a question of fighting
for his life. Accordingly, he fired both barrels of one of his
pistols. One of the men dropped.
"Your sword, Surajah!" Dick exclaimed, as he grasped the scabbard of
his own weapon in his left hand, while in his right he held his other
double-barrelled pistol.
Their antagonists, with yells of fury, were now upon them. Dick shot
one, but the next man he aimed at darted suddenly aside when he fired.
Dick dropped his pistol, and grasped the hilt of his sword just in
time to ward off a blow aimed at his head.
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