noon
The men lay under canvas , dead-beat , half-naked , without the power to do anything except to fight like thirst-maddened dogs for a draught at the shallow stream that they and their breathless horses soon drained dry . Even Raoul de Chateauroy , though his frame was like an Arab 's , and knit into Arab endurance , was stretched like a great bloodhound , chained by the sultry oppression . He was ruthless , inflexible , a tyrant to the core , and sharp and swift as steel in his rigor , but he was a fine soldier , and never spared himself any of the hardships that his regiment had to endure under him . Suddenly the noon lethargy of the camp was broken ; a trumpet-call rang through the stillness ; against the amber transparency of the horizon line the outlines of half a dozen horsemen were seen looming nearer and nearer with every moment ; they were some Spahis who had been out sweeping the country for food . The mighty frame of Chateauroy , almost as unclothed as an athlete 's , started from its slumberous , panting rest ; his eyes lightened hungrily ; he muttered a fiery oath ; `` Mort de Dieu ! -- they have the woman ! '' They had the woman .