'You aren't going to do your handyman act here and now?'
Incredulously Gareth made a wide gesture that took in the bloody
battlefield, the Italian guns and the bursting shells.
'You've got a better idea?' Jake asked brusquely, and Gareth looked
about him forlornly, suddenly straightening his slumping shoulders, the
droop of his mouth lifting into that eternally jaunty grin.
'Funny you should risk, old son. It just so happens-' and like a
conjurer he indicated the apparition that appeared suddenly out of the
curtains of leaping dust and fuming cordite.
Miss Wobbly slammed to a dead stop beside them and both hatches flew
open. Sara's dark head appeared in one and Vicky's golden one in the
other.
Vicky leaned across towards Jake, cupping her hands to her mouth as she
shouted in the storm of shellfire, 'What's wrong with
Priscilla?' And Jake gasped, still red-faced and sweating. 'She's
thrown one of her fits.'
'Grab the tow rope,' Vicky instructed. 'We'll pull you out.' The
Ethiopian camp swarmed with victorious swaggering warriors; their
laughter was loud and their voices boastful. Admiring womenfolk, who
watched them from the cooking fires, were preparing the night's feast.
The big, black iron pots bubbled with a dozen varieties of wat, and the
smell of spices and meat lay heavily on the evening cool.
Vicky Camberwell bent over her typewriter, seated under the flap of her
tent, and her long supple fingers flew at the keys as the words tumbled
from her describing the courage and fighting qualities of a people who,
armed only with sword and horse, had routed a modern army equipped with
all the most fearsome weapons of war. When she was in literary flight,
Vicky sometimes overlooked small details that might detract from the
dramatic impact of her story the fact that the biblical warriors of
Ethiopia had been supported by armoured cars and
Vickers machine guns were details of this type, and she ignored them as
she ended, 'But how much longer can these proud, simple and gallant
people continue to fight off the greedy lusting hordes of a modern
Caesar intent on Empire? A miracle happened here today on the plains
of Danakil, but the age of miracles is passing and it is clear even to
those who have thrown in their lot with this fair land of Ethiopia that
she is doomed unless the sleeping conscience of a civilized world is
aroused, unless the voice of justice rings out clearly, calling to the
tyrant Hands off, Benito Mussolini!'
'That's wonderful, Miss
Camberwell,' said Sara, leaning over to read the last words as they
tapped out on the roller of the machine. 'It makes me want to cry,
it's so sad and 'I'm glad you like it, Sara. I wish you were my
editor.' Vicky stripped the page from the machine and checked it
swiftly, crossing out a word and inking in another before she was
satisfied, and she folded the despatch into a thick brown envelope and
licked the flap.
'Are you sure he is reliable?' she asked Sara.
'Oh, yes, Miss Camberwell, he is one of my father's best men.'
Sara took the envelope and handed it to the warrior who had been
