The whole division surely wouldn't have blazed away, with machine-guns
and all, at two cars and a man on horseback unless someone had passed
the word along that Feisul was in full view.
So Grim and I abandoned our car, driver and all, and jumped into
Jeremy's place. It wasn't more than two hundred yards to the top of a
gentle rise, over which we disappeared from view; and just as we bumped
over it I wrenched out the white tablecloth in which Rene's chicken and
stuff was wrapped and waved it violently.
Then, Lord, what a sight! Below us, sheltered between two flanking
hillocks, was about a division of Feisul's Arab infantry, packing up
sulkily, preparing to follow the retreat. It was a safe bet the French
didn't know they were there, and I dare say the same thought occurred to
every one of us the same instant. Mabel thought of it. I know I did.
But Jeremy voiced it first, heeling his horse up beside us.
"What do you say, Jim? I bet you I can rally that gang. Shall I lead
'em and lick hell out of the Algies?"
But Grim shook his head.
"You might, but the game is to pull the plug properly. Get this lot on
the run. The less fighting, the less risk of drasticism when the French
get to Damascus.
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