I guess they
had forced the pace in advance of the main body in order to take
advantage of the treason of Feisul's officers. They came slouching
forward with their rifles at the trail and a screen of skirmishers
thrown out a quarter of a mile or so ahead.
There were cavalry and guns far off on their right, evidently trying to
work around to the flank of the fleeing array, but those were much too
far away to trouble us and were going in the wrong direction. Rolling
banks of mist shut off the farther view to westward and there was no
guessing where the main French force might be, and for all I know it
hadn't started from the coast yet.
Fortune came to our rescue with one riderless horse, a splendid Arab
gelding tied by the bridle to the wheel of a water-cart and left behind
in the stampede. Jeremy appropriated it, riding Arab fashion with short
stirrups, and I wouldn't have blamed Feisul's own brother for falsely
identifying him at ten yards. He was born mischievous and he
caricatured Feisul on horseback as if he were acting for the movies.
I guess the French officers had good glasses with them, for Jeremy had
hardly mounted when the advancing Algerians opened a hot fire on us.
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