“Don’t shoot at them running.”
An Arab was taking careful note of the zereba from the rocks two hundred yards off, his head and shoulders only being exposed. Cleary rested his rifle on the top of the balcony, pulled the stock firmly to his shoulder, got a fine sight on his mark, and pressed the trigger. A flash! A crack!
“A bull for you, Cleary!” exclaimed the captain. “You have nailed him through the head.”
The enemy were now more cautious, and not more than half a dozen shots were got in the next hour, but most of them told. During that time the Arabs indulged in no more continued storms of fire; only Captain Reece drew occasional volleys, mostly from a considerable distance, as he stood fully exposed, reconnoitring the position.
He did not do this recklessly or out of bravado, but simply because it was of the utmost importance to gain some idea of their numbers, which he put at about five or six hundred; not more in the immediate neighbourhood. It was an uncomfortable position, being cramped up there, imprisoned in so small a space, but not a dangerous one. The enemy kept up a dropping fire, which had no effect beyond wasting their cartridges, though after nightfall it was annoying in two ways; the English had to bivouac in the cold, for they could not light fires, and their sleep was disturbed by constant alerts. In the morning there was a lull, not a shot being fired for some hours. The marksmen went up to the balcony, but, seeing no chance of a shot, were withdrawn, and only the look-out man left there. There was some idea that the enemy might have gone away, and no one would have been sorry; for the wells inside the zereba were very inefficient, the water being soon exhausted, and a tedious waiting entailed before the wells filled again. Already the men had to be put on an allowance, and in that country, where the throat is always parched, any stint of water is the greatest possible privation.
But just as it was in contemplation to send out an exploring party, numbers of them were sighted again amongst the more distant bushes, and it did not go out. Dinner time arrived, and the meal was served out. Before the men had quite finished two sentries fired shots, and all sprang to their arms, which were handy; for every man ate, drank, slept with his rifle close to him, as it was impossible to tell at what moment he might require it.
In half a minute every man was at the hedge with a cartridge in his rifle, and that was not too soon, for the Arabs came at a fast run on two sides simultaneously, and even lapped round and threatened a third.
“Steady, now! Don’t shoot till you have your man covered. There’s no hurry. The nearer they are the better!” cried the officers, and sergeants and corporals seconded them well. Yet the commands were not necessary, so cool and steady were the men. It was as if they had been waiting so long for a chance, that they were afraid of wasting it now they had got it. Nothing could be more deliberate than the way they aimed.
“Why did you not fire then, Macintosh?” Sergeant Barton happened to ask; “you had a fair chance,” the Arab being about forty yards off, and the Scotsman “drawing a bead” on him.
“I was trying to get two in a line,” said the economist; and presently he succeeded. Being protected by the hedge naturally made the men cooler, and able to afford to reserve their fire.