Jimgrim - The Spy Thrillers Series. Talbot Mundy

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, and 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