I aimed where, if I missed his thigh, I should hit his camel, and hoped to hit both. As my rifle roared in the deep silence of the night, I swung left for the easier shot, fired again, and drove my camel bounding forward. I crouched low, as I worked the bolt of my rifle, in the hope of evading spear-thrust or sword-stroke from behind.
As I did so a rifle banged behind me, at a few yards range, and I felt as though my left arm had been struck with a red-hot axe.
With the right hand that held the rifle, I wheeled my camel round in a flash, steadied the beast and myself and, one-handed, fired from my hip at a camel that suddenly loomed up before me. Then I wheeled about again and sent my good beast forward at racing speed.
My left arm swung useless, and I could feel the blood pouring down over my hand, in a stream. . . .
This would not do. . . .
I shoved my rifle under my thigh, and with my right hand raised my left and got the arm up so that I could hold it by the elbow, with the left hand beneath my chin.
I fought off the feeling of faintness caused by shock and the loss of blood--and wondered if Suleiman, Djikki, Achmet and Dufour would shoot first and challenge afterwards, as I rode into them. . . .
Evidently I had brought down the three camels at which I had aimed--not a difficult thing to do, save in darkness, and when firing from the back of a camel, whose very breathing sways one's rifle. . . .
I was getting faint again. . . . It would soon pass off. . . . If I could only plug the holes and improvise a sling. . . . As the numbness of the arm wore off and I worried at it, I began to hope and believe that the bone was not broken. . . . Fancy a shattered elbow-joint, in the desert, and with the need to ride hard and constantly. . . .
I was aware of three dark masses in line. . . .
"Major! Shout!" cried a voice, and with great promptitude I shouted--and three rifles came down from the firing position.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"I made her ride on with Achmet, hell-for-leather," replied Dufour. "I swore she'd help us more that way, till we can see what's doing. . . . What happened, sir?"
I told him.
"They'll trail us all right," said Dufour. "Those were scouts and there would be a line of connecting-links between them and the main body. Shall we wait, and get them one by one?"
"No," I replied. "They'd circle us and they'd get the others while we waited here. It'll be daylight soon. . . ."
* * *
It was in the dim daylight of the false dawn that we sighted the baggage-camels of the caravan.
"Those baggage-camels will have to be left," said Dufour.
"You can't ride away from Touareg," I answered. "It's hopeless. We've got to fight, if they attack. They may not do so, having been badly stung already. But the Targui is a vengeful beast. It isn't as though they were ordinary Bedouin. . . ."
The light grew stronger, and we drew near to the others. I told Djikki to drop back and to fire directly he saw anything of the robbers--thus warning us, and standing them off while we made what preparations we could.
I suddenly felt extremely giddy, sick, and faint. My white burnous made a ghastly show. I was wet through, from my waist to my left foot, with blood. I must have lost a frightful lot . . . artery. . . .
Help! . . .
* * *
The next thing that I knew was that I was lying with my head on Maudie's lap, while Mary Vanbrugh, white of face but deft of hand, bandaged my arm and strapped it across my chest. She had evidently torn up some linen garment for this purpose. Mary's eyes were fixed on her work, and Maudie's on the horizon. The men were crouched each behind his kneeling camel.
"Dear Major Ivan," murmured Mary as she worked.
I shut my eyes again, quickly and without shame. It was heavenly to rest thus for a few minutes.
"Oh, is he dead, Miss?" quavered poor Maudie.
"We shall all be dead in a few minutes, I expect, child," replied Mary. "Have you a safety-pin? . . . Dead as cold mutton. . . . Sheikhs, my dear! . . . Shall I shoot you at the last, Maudie, or would you rather do it yourself?"
"Well--if you wouldn't mind, Miss? Thank you very much, if it's not troubling you."
Silence.
"Dear Major Ivan," came a sweet whisper. "Oh, I have been a beast to him, Maudie. . . . Yes, I'll shoot you with pleasure, child. . . . How could I be such a wretch as to treat him like that. . . . He is the bravest, nicest, sternest . . ."
I felt a cad, and opened my eyes--almost into those of Mary, whose lips were just . . . were they . . . were they? . . .
"Yes, Miss," said Maudie, her eyes and thoughts afar off. "He is a beautiful gentleman. . . ."
"Hallo! the patient has woken up!" cried Mary, drawing back quickly. "Had a nice nap, Major? How do you feel? . . . Here, have a look into the cup that cheers and inebriates"; and she lifted a mug, containing cognac and water, to my lips.
I drank the lot and felt better.
"My heart come into my mouth it did, sir, when I saw you fall head-first off that camel. You fair splashed blood, sir," said Maudie. "Clean into me mouth me heart come, sir."
"Hope you swallowed the little thing again, Maud. Such a sweet garden of romance as it is! . . . 'Come into the maud, Garden!' for a change. . . . That's the way, Major. . . . Drinks it up like milk and looks round for more. Got a nice clean flesh wound and no bones touched, the clever man. . . ."
I sat up.
"Get those camels further apart, Dufour," I shouted.
"Absolute focal point to draw concentrated fire bunched like that . . ."
Nobody must think that I was down and out, and that the reins were slipping from a sick man's grasp.
The men were eating dates as they watched, and Mary had opened a tin of biscuits and one of sardines.
"Hark at the Major saying his piece," a voice murmured from beneath a flowing kafiyeh beside me. "Isn't he fierce this morning!"
I got to my feet and pulled myself together. . . . Splendid. . . . Either the brandy, or the idea of a kiss I foolishly fancied that I had nearly received, had gone to my head. I ate ravenously for the next ten minutes, and drank cold tea from a water-bottle.
"There's many a slip between the kiss and the lip," I murmured anon, in a voice to match the one that had last spoken.
I was unwise.
"Wrong again, Major Ivan Petruski Skivah! I was just going to blow a smut off your grubby little nose," was the prompt reply, and I seemed to hear thereafter a crooning of:
"But
