There is no time just now to use them, for the rush of horses' hoofs are
heard up the road, as the men of Bab Azoun come racing along, intent
upon overhauling the fugitives.

They sweep past the rocky tomb like a young cyclone; it is a spectacle
none of those who gaze upon it will ever forget. The moonlight renders
it perfectly plain, and they can even see the savage expression of each
Arab face as the riders dash by.

Now they are gone, and Mustapha begins to pile up the rocks against the
door.

The others see what he is about, and immediately assist him, so that
when a couple of minutes have elapsed they have made use of every
available stone, and can regard their work with considerable
satisfaction.

The roof of the tomb is the worst part, and, being made of wood, it
shows signs of decay. They locate themselves as best the circumstances
will allow and await the sequel.

It is too much to hope that their enemies will long be deceived by the
trick that has been played. When they overtake, or sight, the riderless
horses, they must grasp the situation, and whirling about, look for the
fugitives upon the back trail. No doubt their shrewdness will at once
tell them just where those they seek may be found.

Even as they finish their labor and take their positions, those in the
tomb discover that a change has come; the shouts of the robbers are
growing, louder, showing that they no longer race away. Their tenor has