"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, and he became man again. He stood up quietly with the rifle
in his hands. The other arms were unearthed, the ammunition shared.
"Now," said Trench, and he laughed with a great thrill of joy in the
laugh.
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