Their chargers hit and tore at each other's manes; they were twined in together there as if they were but one man and one beast; they shook and they swayed and they rocked; the sabers played about their heads so quick that it was like lightning, as they flashed and twirled in the sun; the hoofs trampled up the sand till a yellow cloud hid their struggle, and out of it all you could see was the head of a horse tossing up and spouting with foam, or a sword-blade lifted to strike.

Then the tawny cloud settled down a little, the sand mist cleared away, the Arab's saddle was empty--but Rire-pour-tout sat like a rock.

The old Chief bowed his head.

'It is over! Allah is great!' And he knew his son lay there dead.

Then we broke from the ranks, and we rushed to the place where the chargers and men were piled like so many slaughtered sheep.