The Master had just finished checking his roster, when quite without
any preliminary disturbance a crackle of rifle-fire began spattering
from the city. And all at once, out of the gate opposite _Nissr_,
appeared a white-whirling swarm of figures, at the same time that a
green banner, bearing a star and crescent, broke out from the highest
minaret.
The figures issuing in a dense mass from the gate were horsemen, all;
and they were riding full drive, _ventre a terre_. Out into the
plain they debouched, with robes flying, with a green banner, steel
flashing, and over all, a great and continual volleying of rifle-fire.
This horde of rushing cavaliers must have numbered between five
and six hundred; and a fine sight they made as the Master got his
binoculars on them. Here, there, a bit of lively color stood out
vividly against the prevailing snowy white of the mass; but for the
most part, horses and men alike came rushing down like a drive of
furious snow across that wondrous green slope between the palm-groves
and the city wall.
As they drew near, the snapping of burnouses and cherchias in the
wind, the puffs of powder-smoke, the glint of brandished arms grew
clearer; and now, too, the muffled sound of kettle-drums rolled
down-breeze, in booming counterpoint to the sharp staccato of the
rifles.
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