been neatly switched.
The Count picked up the horseman in the sight, and led off just a
touch, a hair's breadth, for the Marmlicher was a high-velocity rifle
and the range was not more than a hundred metres.
He saw the hit clearly, the man lurched in the saddle and sprawled
forward over the horse's neck, but he did not fall. The rifle dropped
from his hands and cartwheeled across the earth, but the man clung
desperately to the horse's mane while quick crimson spread across the
shoulder of his dirty white robe.
The Count fired again, aiming for the junction of the horse's neck and
shoulder, and saw the jarring impact spin the animal off its feet,
so that it fell heavily upon its wounded rider, crushing the air from
his lungs in a short high wail.
The Count laughed, wild with excitement. 'How many, Gino? How many is
that?'
'Eight, my Colonel.'
'Keep counting. Keep counting,' he urged, as he swung the rifle,
seeking the next target, peering eagerly over the open vee sight. Then
suddenly he froze, the rifle barrel wavering and sinking to point at
his glossy toe caps His lower jaw unhinged and slowly sank, as if in
sympathy with the rifle barrel. His recent affliction, forgotten in
the excitement of the chase, returned suddenly with a force that turned
his bowels to water and his legs to rubber.
'Merciful Mary!' he whispered.
The entire horizon was moving, an Unbroken line from one edge of his
vision to the other. It took him many seconds to assimilate what he
was seeing, to realize that instead of fifteen horsemen, there were
suddenly thousands upon thousands, and that rather than running before
him they were now moving towards him at a velocity which he would not
have believed possible. As he stared, he saw rank upon rank of the
enemy seemingly rising from the very earth ahead of him, and rushing
towards him through a curtain of fine pale dust. He saw the lowering
sun glint red as blood upon the naked blades, and the drumming of
galloping hooves sounded like the thunder of a giant waterfall. Yet
faintly through the thunder, he heard the blood-freezing war shrieks of
the horsemen.
'Giuseppe,' he gasped. 'Take us away from here fast!
Very fast.' This was the sort of appeal that went directly to the
driver's heart. He spun the big car so nimbly that the Count's
considerably weakened legs collapsed and he fell backwards onto the
leather seat.
Spread over a front of a quarter of a mile behind and on each side of
the Rolls came thirty of the dun coloured Fiat troop-carriers.
Despite their most fervent efforts, they had lost ground steadily to
the thrusting Rolls and they now lumbered along almost a thousand yards
behind. However, the excitement of the chase had affected the
occupants and they had climbed up on the cabs and cupolas, and hung
there hooting and yelling as they watched the sport, like runners at a
fox hunt.
