“Come,” said Abou. “There will be no moon tonight. How long before they discover you are gone?”
“Who knows? Perhaps already Idris has missed us. Perhaps he will not till morning. There are many prisoners.”
They ran up the slope of sand, between the quarters of the tribes, across the narrow width of the city, through the cemetery. On the far side of the cemetery stood a disused house; a man rose up in the doorway as they approached, and went in.
“Wait here,” said Abou Fatma, and he too went into the house. In a moment both men came back, and each one led a camel and made it kneel.
“Mount,” said Abou Fatma. “Bring its head round and hold it as you mount.”
“I know the trick,” said Trench.
Feversham climbed up behind him, the two Arabs mounted the second camel.
“Ten miles to the west,” said Abou Fatma, and he struck the camel on the flanks.
Behind them the glare of the lights dwindled, the tapping of the drums diminished.
XXX
The Last of the Southern Cross
The wind blew keen and cold from the north. The camels, freshened by it, trotted out at their fastest pace.
“Quicker,” said Trench, between his teeth. “Already Idris may have missed us.”
“Even if he has,” replied Feversham, “it will take time to get men together for a pursuit, and those men must fetch their camels, and already it is dark.”
But although he spoke hopefully, he turned his head again and again towards the glare of light above Omdurman. He could no longer hear the tapping of the drums, that was some consolation. But he was in a country of silence, where men could journey swiftly and yet make no noise. There would be no sound of galloping horses to warn him that pursuit was at his heels. Even at that moment the Ansar soldiers might be riding within thirty paces of them, and Feversham strained his eyes backwards into the darkness and expected the glimmer of a white turban. Trench, however, never turned his head. He rode with his teeth set, looking forward. Yet fear was no less strong in him than in Feversham. Indeed, it was stronger, for he did not look back towards Omdurman because he did not dare; and though his eyes were fixed directly in front of him, the things which he really saw were the long narrow streets of the town behind him, the dotted fires at the corners of the streets, and men running hither and thither among the houses, making their quick search for the two prisoners escaped from the House of Stone.
Once his attention was diverted by a word from Feversham, and he answered without turning his head:—
“What is it?”
“I no longer see the fires of Omdurman.”
“The golden blot, eh, very low down?” Trench answered in an abstracted voice. Feversham did not ask him to explain what his allusion meant, nor could Trench have disclosed why he had spoken it; the words had come back to him suddenly with a feeling that it was somehow appropriate that the vision which was the last thing to meet Feversham’s eyes as he set out upon his mission he should see again now that that mission was accomplished. They spoke no more until two figures rose out of the darkness in front of them, at the very feet of their camels, and Abou Fatma cried in a low voice:—
“Instanna!”
They halted their camels and made them kneel.
“The new camels are here?” asked Abou Fatma, and two of the men disappeared for a few minutes and brought four camels up. Meanwhile the saddles were unfastened and removed from the camels Trench and his companion had ridden out of Omdurman.
“They are good camels?” asked Feversham, as he helped to fix the saddles upon the fresh ones.
“Of the Anafi breed,” answered Abou Fatma. “Quick! Quick!” and he looked anxiously to the east and listened.
“The arms?” said Trench. “You have them? Where are they?” and he bent his body and searched the ground for them.
“In a moment,” said Abou Fatma, but it seemed that Trench could hardly wait for that moment to arrive. He showed even more anxiety to handle the weapons than he had shown fear that he would be overtaken.
“There is ammunition?” he asked feverishly.
“Yes, yes,” replied Abou Fatma, “ammunition and rifles and revolvers.” He led the way to a spot about twenty yards from the camels, where some long desert grass rustled about their legs. He stooped and dug into the soft sand with his hands.
“Here,” he said.
Trench flung himself upon the ground beside him and scooped with both hands, making all the while an inhuman whimpering sound with his mouth, like the noise a foxhound makes at a cover. There was something rather horrible to Feversham in his attitude as he scraped at the ground on his knees, at the action of his hands, quick like the movements of a dog’s paws, and in the whine of his voice. He was sunk for the time into an animal. In a moment or two Trench’s fingers touched the lock and trigger of a rifle,
