The rush had failed and the enemy were flying.

If the heart of the square were shambles, the ground beyond was a butcher's shop.

Dick thrust his way forward between the maddened men.

The remnant of the enemy were retiring, as the few--the very few--English cavalry rode down the laggards.
Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast aside in the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again the illimitable dark levels of the desert.

The sun caught the steel and turned it into a red disc.