Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  The men of the Avenger’s left wing had caught sight of Ayisha’s column before it entered the wady, and themselves had taken cover amid a cluster of rocks and sandhills near the middle of the plain below us to our right front. They were extremely well hidden, being difficult to make out even from our height looking downward.

  They were evidently waiting for instructions. A thing that looked like a bed-bug moving at amazing speed resolved itself with the aid of Grim’s glasses into a camelman riding hell-bent-for-leather toward Abu Lissan. So it was a fair presumption that the Avenger hadn’t left headquarters yet — a presumption that strengthened the other, that the whole force had intended to bivouac for the night at the two water-holes.

  And now another hypothesis developed into something like a fact. Unless the Avenger had several hundred men remaining with him in Abu Lissan, of which there was no sign; or unless he had sent a raiding force away in another direction, which was unlikely, considering the task in front of him of tackling the hitherto invariably successful Ali Higg, then the total number of men he could dispose of dwindled already to five hundred at the outside estimate.

  The two bodies of camel-men were close enough to be considered one force, since either of them could race to the assistance of the other in the event of a surprise attack. But it was pretty clear, nevertheless, that Ayisha’s appearance on the scene with a compact force of a hundred and forty, which probably looked twice as big to their nervous imagination, had considerably upset calculations.

  You see, the Avenger had done all the boasting. It was he who had pronounced damnation on Ali Higg, declaring him a heretic, which is the perfect form of propaganda in all Moslem lands. It was the Avenger, not Ali Higg, who had promised conquest and loot — women and gold and camels — the swift, tumultuous triumph for which the Bedouin’s heart burns. So it was naturally disconcerting to find Ali Higg’s men first in the field — and on their flank at that, instead of in a trap between the two wings of the Avenger, where a reasonable enemy ought to be.

  Ibrahim ben Ah began to grow excited, and old Ali Baba seconded him.

  “Now, Jimgrim! Send a message to Ayisha quickly. Bid her attack at once. Those cowards of the Avenger’s don’t know what to do. They’ll run, and be slaughtered. Then, having dealt with them as they deserve, we can cross the plain and show those others how brave men tackle a machine-gun! Quick now! Let me go!”

  “Aye, let him go!” agreed Ali Baba.

  If I had stood in Grim’s shoes I would have done just that. But Narayan Singh sat still on a rock and watched Grim’s face; and Grim said nothing for a while — only kept on smiling. The more those two old firebrands clamored, the more set he seemed to grow on doing nothing, and on saying less. Ibrahim ben Ah actually clutched his arm at last, and shouted in his ear:

  “Allah sends such opportunity but once in a man’s life! Allaho Akbar! Say the word, Jimgrim, and a hundred men shall overwhelm a thousand!”

  “There’s not going to be any fight,” Grim answered at last.

  “But we could win easily!”

  “Maybe. Perhaps. But one fight breeds another. There’s a better way of settling this.” He turned to Ali Baba.

  “Call up those sons of yours from down below, old fox!”

  That suited the old man perfectly. He was a fanatic about those sons and grandsons. No plan could fail, in his opinion, if they were linked up with it; and he retained the courage of conviction in spite of the fact that if you added up the gaol sentences it would need a Methuselah to contemplate the lot with equanimity. He went to bellow to them, making a trumpet of his hands, and in a minute they were swarming up-hill.

  “Let’s hope the Avenger has a field-glass,” said Grim. And that was no wild-cat suggestion, because during the Great War nearly all the Arab commanders in the field became possessed of things of that kind, either in the form of loot from Turkish and German officers, or as presents from the Allies.

  Twenty-one men, all armed with rifles, can make a fairly good showing over half a mile of hill-top, if they move about enough. We spread out in both directions, dodging behind boulders, sometimes running, sometimes walking across the open; and then, as if Grim were directing the making of a motion picture, retiring out of sight to form platoon, march in and out of view, re- form into a single line, to look like a different body of men, and finally disappear.

  At the end of half an hour we had accomplished one thing, anyhow. Both wings of the Avenger’s men had seen us. Evidently they did not have field- glasses, or the shorter range would have betrayed the trick. The men advancing toward the water-hole began to hurry forward, and those already waiting there collected their camels and took close formation.

  “Now for the awkward half an hour!” said Grim. “We win or lose now on the strength of what the Avenger ate for breakfast. If he felt good, and sent his brightest man away with the right wing, we’re done for. We’ll have to call Ayisha off, and scoot for the tall timber. Any wing-commander worthy of his salt would send scouts now to look behind this hill. But if the Avenger didn’t feel good, and kept his brightest man by handy to advise with; and if, on top of that, he’s got news of a certain Jimgrirn snooping somewhere to the southward (Lord knows what the Lion’s doing, but it’s certain he’s pretending to be me), then that left wing may rest satisfied that we’re a strong force, and wait for orders. The Avenger may decide to recall ’em all, and watch points.”

  It was then that Narayan Singh gave proof of his military judgement. As I have said, he is fit to command a brigade, if only a brigadier in these exacting days didn’t have to stay sober all the time.

  “Why leave it to their judgement, sahib?” he growled out. He can’t speak gently about military matters, but thrusts out his jaw and looks savage. “We are one and twenty men. That is a scouting force big enough to represent two hundred men at least. If we go scouting they will draw their horns in, thinking we are likely an advance-guard sent to force a fight.”

  “Right you are!” Grim answered. “You usually are right. If they should call the bluff we’d be no worse off than if they’d sent their own scouts out to investigate us.”

  But even so, it was a risky business. Too much depended on the temper of the Avenger’s men, and on what instructions he had given them. All we had to count on was the psychological effect made on them by surprise at finding what they supposed was a strong force.

  But there never was a plan of any sort, since Adam was booted neck and crop from Eden, that hadn’t its Achilles heel, and its moment when success depended on the other fellow’s doing the wrong thing. Otherwise, we’d all have been back in Eden long ago.

  We clambered down the hill, mounted our camels, and swooped out suddenly on the plain, going at a fast clip in close formation for the first mile. Then we opened out to fifty yards or so apart, just as a precaution in case that machine-gun should be really in working order.

  We had one indisputable advantage. The splendor of old Ibrahim ben Ah’s raiment, and the red and blue trappings of his camel, proclaimed him from a long way off as a person of distinction; such individuals don’t lead scouting or skirmishing parties as a rule, unless there is a strong supporting force within hail. Moreover, we were all magnificently mounted; the points of a camel are the first things that appeal to a Bedouin’s eye, and, just as a good store-window suggests opulence within (without necessarily insuring it), so the perfect turn-out of a force of scouts implies a well-found numerous army in its rear, notwithstanding the uncensored open pages of the Chronicle of Bluff.

  But, as I said, it was a risky business. They actually started on its way a force of twice our number to ascertain our intention; and Ibrahim ben Ah, life-long follower of desert tactics, shouted to us to scatter and run. But Grim is a first-class poker player, and not addicted to throwing down his cards just because someone across the table has raised him a hundred per cent. He sent Ali Baba’s youngest grandson scurrying back alone towards our sugar-loaf hill, as if to bring reinforcements, an
d led straight on.

  You remember how the stars in their courses fought against Sisera? Well, the sun was out, so I can’t vouch for the stars; but the kites and eagles came to our assistance. We had left our baggage-camels hobbled among boulders at the rear of the hill; and I suppose, not liking to be left behind, they had called attention to themselves by struggling to get up. They may have looked from the upper realms of air like dying animals. I can’t vouch for that either. But I do know that three or four eagles, at least a dozen vultures, and kites by the score, began circling above them with a meal in view. What more could you ask for to establish the presence of a considerable force of men?

  So the oncoming skirmishers retired before us without coming close enough to make an exchange of shots worth anybody’s while. And at about that moment the galloper came hurrying back from Abu Lissan with orders for the other wing. They sent men to meet him, to save time. There was an exchange of signals, and the Avenger’s left wing left cover in a hurry, smoking back for the town with a devil-take-the-hindermost appearance, which may or may not have been deceptive. And as the hindermost were mostly baggage-camels laden to capacity, it was all Grim could do to restrain Ali Baba from leading his gang of thieves in hot pursuit.

  “Why should Allah make things easy, if we refuse to help ourselves?” he demanded with pious wrath. But he is a loyal old fox, and gave in, fuming, when Grim made his veto sufficiently emphatic.

  The sudden retreat of the left wing was the last straw that convinced the Avenger’s right. They packed up their precious machine-gun and departed from that water-hole of one accord and with one mind, and the dust of their going, caught up in a blast of the simoom, was like the smoke-screen of a fleet in action.

  One thing that was no news in the dawn of history, but that the Allies had to learn all over in the Great War, is that, though Arabs are like a steel- shod tempest, in attack, coming on as if welcoming death to the roar of their “Illaho Akbar,” you can’t stop them when they once start running. Then they’re like steers in a stampede; the camels seem to catch the frenzy of their riders, and the whole lot go scurrying helter-skelter for the nearest hiding-place to home. Some even actually do go home, disregarding the runaway’s prerogative of coming back to fight another day.

  So we found ourselves possessed of that oasis in the gap in the lower range of hills; and since the dust kicked up by their retreat rendered us perfectly invisible to the Avenger’s men, we made our way to it leisurely, most of us roaring with laughter and exchanging jokes.

  Only one thing seemed to worry Grim now. There was a serious danger that Ayisha might not be able to restrain her men from following the general retreat with a view to plunder. Although that would certainly have turned disorder into utter rout, it would have just as certainly brought on reprisals as soon as the Avenger should have rallied his runaways in Abu Lissan. Reprisals were the last thing Grim was looking for. He sent Mujrim at top speed to find Ayisha, with orders for her to leave twenty men under a picked captain who could create an appearance of numbers, and to bring the rest of her force, under cover all the way if that were possible, to the rear of our sugar-loaf hill.

  That attended to, he examined the oasis, and it was a sight to gladden the eyes of any man with a problem such as is not yet more than half-solved. There was an ample supply of water for a force a dozen times the size of ours, but that was almost the least attraction. There was firewood by the camel-load, by the cord, by the ton — heaps and piles and mounds of it. A hundred women working for a month under their impatient husbands’ eyes could hardly have cut that quantity.

  The Avenger was evidently a foresighted conqueror. Having seized Abu Lissan and decided to make it the pushing-off place for a more ambitious campaign, he had sent firewood parties up into the hills to lay in a good store of the stuff. For firewood in any quantity is about the hardest thing to come by when campaigning in that sterile land, and doubtless the Allies had taught him in the War the benefit of getting stores piled up ahead.

  Whether he had intended to transport the stuff to Abu Lissan, or to relay it by camel-loads behind his advancing army, was none of our affair. There the wood was, mostly bound together in negotiable bundles, and it was worth to Grim in that minute incalculably more than all the loot that might have been picked up by following the retreat of the Avenger’s men.

  He measured the stuff with his eye and began to hum tunes to himself. He lit a cigarette, and whistled. He threw the cigarette away, seized hold of me, and danced a two-step all in among the piles of wood. Finally, he stripped himself and took a bath in the small rock-basin over which the spring bubbled musically.

  When Ibrahim ben Ah requested an explanation, he sang him a little song in English about a “merry man moping mum, who asked no sup, and who craved no crumb, and all for the love of a la-a-a-dy.” Then he climbed to the top of the hill behind, to sit and watch for Ayisha; not that any of us doubted she was coming, but that Grim wanted to form his own judgement as to whether or not the movement of her column could be seen from Abu Lissan.

  Narayan Singh and I rode back then to the sugar-loaf hill to bring along the baggage-camels, for all our eatables were stowed in the loads, and if exercise, excitement and amusement do a thing to you at all, they make you hungry. I hate a diet of uncooked dates for more than two meals in succession; they’re handy and all that; they’ll keep you alive, and still be palatable after they’ve been sat on in the hot sun; yet I’ve noticed that the Arabs, though they boast of them, agree with me in eating in preference almost anything else that comes along. And we had canned stuff in the camel-loads — cheese and honest coffee and good wheat bread. Have you tried wheat bread in cans? It keeps “new” for months, and there’s nothing like it to campaign on.

  Narayan Singh was in one of his moralizing moods. He often gets that way when something he admires takes place under his eyes, and there is time to turn the various aspects of it over in his mind.

  “There is no such thing as a color-line, sahib,” he exclaimed suddenly, at the end of a quarter of a mile. “Nevertheless, we dark men draw it more determinedly than you white men do. But that is craziness. There are two sorts of men; no others. Men who naturally can. Men who can’t. Jimgrim can; and there you have him. I have fought under generals who can’t; and believe me, that is a costly business for the rank and file. There are some men to whom you could give kingdoms, and they would lose them in a week. There are others whom you could strip as naked as a little frog — as Jimgrim was in the pool just now — and if you turn them into the desert naked, they will carve a fortune or change the country’s face. Our Jimgrim hasn’t fired a shot, and I wager he will fire none. He hadn’t told his plan, and I wager he never made one! He can; and he knows he can. He goes forth, and fortune goes with him. Can you tell me the why of that?”

  “Natural talent, I suppose. Training, environment, a liking for the task. I’m not good at conundrums.”

  “Neither am I, sahib. But I know this. There is a line that is not a color line. Jimgrim is above the line, and we are below it. If you and I knew how to vault above that line, we might be green in the face with yellow whiskers, and nevertheless the world would change under our hands! By my beard and the Prophet of this people’s feet, that Jimgrim of ours could be a king, if he was minded — yet he would laugh at the idea, although I have heard it said that all you Americans regard yourselves as kings. He could be a millionaire, if he was minded, yet I think he would regard the suggestion as a joke, although I am told that every other American looks on millions as his heritage. Jimgrim is a man of infinite capacity, who had nothing but a babu’s salary! He enjoys everything, and wants nothing! He studies all manner of men, and is amused, but covets no man’s shoes! Can you explain him?”

  “Seems to me you’ve done it pretty well,” I said. “Let’s hurry. Come on. I’m hungry.”

  We had brought the baggage beasts to the oasis, watered them, and started to prepare a meal before Ayisha came. She left her excited
command behind the sugar-loaf hill and came galloping to confer with Grim. Excitement was too mild a word for her condition; she was in her element, and as full of fiery zeal as Joan of Arc, although I dare say the glorious Joan had more compunction and less savagery. She looked lovely in her Bedouin costume, with eyes blazing and an Amazon smile on her lips; and she was too contented to resume her quarrel with me — actually tossing me a smile of recognition as she passed.

  I did not hear what she said to Grim; they talked alone together by the pool; but what he said sobered her. She ate with us in silence, and the rest of us had to hustle to get our share, for her appetite wasn’t what the old- fashioned finishing schools would reckon lady-like. She could wolf bread and cheese like a stone crusher swallowing rock.

  At last, with a mouth full of food, she sprang on her camel again and departed, just as the sun seemed to rest for an instant on the rim of the western horizon, as if it were a living ball of fire hesitating to make the plunge into the unknown. It was pitch-dark already by the time she reached her men.

  Then began about the hardest work I ever lent a hand in. Grim and the rest of us — even old Ali Baba and Ibrahim ben Ah with his silken skirts tucked up about his waist — Ayisha and her men, and the camels all toiled harder than galley slaves to get that wood distributed.

  We laid it in great heaps at intervals along the hilltop at the back of the oasis. We carried tons of it to the sugarloaf hill, and stacked it at even distances apart in long lines extending from each side of the hill, with a liberal supply on top (and the men who toted the loads up that hill had to be threatened each time they returned). We sent several tons on camel-back to the place where Ayisha had left her outpost. And we finished the job by midnight.