braced himself for the sound of firing certain that they had run into
an ambush. There was confused shouting of question and comment from
the drivers and crews of the stranded convoy, as they climbed down and
peered ahead.
Castelani focused his binoculars, and at that moment the sound of
gunfire carried clearly across the desert spaces, and the swift order
to deploy his field guns was on Castelani's lips as he found the
Rolls-Royce in the lens of his binoculars.
The big automobile was out on the left flank, racing through the
scrubby grass, and in the back seat the count was braced with a shotgun
levelled over the driver's head.
Even as Castelani watched, a flock of plump brown francolin burst from
the grass ahead of the speeding Rolls, rising steeply on quick wide
wings. Long blue streamers of gunsmoke flew from the muzzles of the
shotgun, and two of the birds exploded in puffs of soft brown feathers,
while the survivors of the flock scattered away, and the
Rolls came to a halt in a skidding cloud of dust.
Castelani watched Gino, the little Sergeant, jump from the Rolls and
run to pick up the dead birds and carry them to the Count.
Torco Dio!' thundered the Major, as he watched the Count pose for the
camera, still standing in the rear of the Rolls, holding the dangling
feathered brown bodies and smiling proudly into the lens.
There was a rising feeling of despondency and alarm in the Ras's army.
Since the middle of the morning, through a day of scalding heat and
unrelenting boredom, they had waited.
The scouts had reported the first forward movement of the Italian force
at ten o'clock that morning, and immediately the Ras's forces had moved
forward into their carefully prepared positions.
Gareth Swales had spent days selecting the best possible ground in
which to meet the first Italian thrust, and each contingent of the
wild
Ethiopian cavalry had been carefully drilled and properly cautioned as
to the sequence of ambush and the necessity of maintaining strict
discipline.
The chosen field was situated between the horns of the mountains,
in the mouth of the funnel formed by the debouchment of the Sardi
Gorge. It was obvious that this was the only approach route open to
the Italians, and it was nearly twelve miles wide.
The attackers must be led in close to the southern horn of the funnel,
where the Vickers machine guns had been sited on the rocky slopes, and
where a minor water course had chiselled its way down to the plain. The
water course was dry now, and it meandered out into the plain for five
miles before vanishing, but it was deep and wide enough to conceal the
large contingents of Harari and Galla horsemen.
This mass of cavalry had been waiting all day, squatting beside their
mounts in the sugar-white sand of the river bed.
The two separate factions had been diplomatically separated. The
Harari were placed at the head of the trap, nearest the rocky slope of
the mountain with the Vickers gunners hidden on their flank in strong
