we'll try him at five hundred." He fired, but there was no change in
the white camel or the peering rider.

"Did you see any sand fly?"

"No, I saw nothing."

"I fancy I took my sight a trifle too full."

"Try him again."

Man and rifle and rock were equally steady, but again the camel and
chief remained un-harmed. The third shot must have been nearer, for he
moved a few paces to the right, as if he were becoming restless.
Belmont threw the empty rifle down, with an exclamation of disgust.

"It's this confounded light," he cried, and his cheeks flushed with
annoyance. "Think of my wasting three cartridges in that fashion!
If I had him at Bisley I'd shoot the turban off him, but this vibrating
glare means refraction. What's the matter with the Frenchman?"

Monsieur Fardet was stamping about the plateau with the gestures of a
man who has been stung by a wasp. "_S'cre nom! S'cre nom!_" he
shouted, showing his strong white teeth under his black waxed moustache.
He wrung his right hand violently, and as he did so he sent a little
spray of blood from his finger-tips. A bullet had chipped his wrist.
Headingly ran out from the cover where be had been crouching, with the
intention of dragging the demented Frenchman into a place of safety, but
he had not taken three paces before he was himself hit in the loins, and
fell with a dreadful crash among the stones. He staggered to his feet,