"Now I don't mind. Let them follow from Omdurman! One thing is
certain now: I shall never go back there; no, not even if they overtake
us," and he fondled the rifle which he held and spoke to it as though it
lived.
Two of the Arabs mounted the old camels and rode slowly away to
Omdurman. Abou Fatma and the other remained with the fugitives. They
mounted and trotted northeastwards. No more than a quarter of an hour
had elapsed since they had first halted at Abou Fatma's word.
All that night they rode through halfa grass and mimosa trees and went
but slowly, but they came about sunrise on to flat bare ground broken
with small hillocks.
"Are the Effendi tired?" asked Abou Fatma. "Will they stop and eat?
There is food upon the saddle of each camel."
"No; we can eat as we go."
Dates and bread and a draught of water from a zamsheyeh made up their
meal, and they ate it as they sat their camels. These, indeed, now that
they were free of the long desert grass, trotted at their quickest pace.
And at sunset that evening they stopped and rested for an hour. All
through that night they rode and the next day, straining their own
endurance and that of the beasts they were mounted on, now ascending on
to high and rocky ground, now traversing a valley, and now trotting fast
across plains of honey-coloured sand.
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