“It is evil,” he answered. “Blood flows there like the water of the Tigris.”
After a few minutes two Arabs galloped up behind us on their mares, and one carried a great lance.
“Whither going?” cried Fattûḥ.
“To Môṣul,” they shouted.
“What is your business?” he called out.
“We heard the cannon,” they replied, and galloped up the hill. The zaptieh went with them.
“He will be little use if Môṣul is up,” observed Fattûḥ.
At this moment the cannon ceased, and we saw a party of four or five soldiers riding over the brow. The Arabs and my zaptieh stopped to speak to them, and then turned back with them, coming slowly towards us down the ridge.
“These know,” said Fattûḥ.
They stopped when they reached us, and the moment was big with Fate.