The sound of the firing was louder now, and the sheik slowed his horse to a walk and then reined in at the top of a crest. From his saddlebag he secured a very modern pair of binoculars with which he surveyed the scene ahead of us.
"The tombs of Seti First and Rameses Tenth lie there," he said, indicating a southerly direction. "The battle is, as you can see by the gun flashes, to the right."
"Near the tomb of Rameses Sixth," I said automatically, accepting the binoculars from him.
I noted that he gave me a surprised look. "Quite right, Doctor. How did—?"
"Something I heard," I explained quickly, viewing the night scene.
The moon had risen and visibility had improved. We were, I judged, in the western end of the valley, and ahead the desolate Eocene limestone and bedrock slanted upwards towards a projecting bastion of rock. Well up the slope were heaps of stone, removed no doubt from the numerous tombs of the area and interspersed with faults and fissures. The flashes of gunfire indicated that the Scottish soldiers and Holmes were shooting upwards towards the rocky escarpment that dominated the section. Well hidden behind large boulders just below the crest, another group was returning their fire.
Lowering the glasses, I noted that the sheik's head was shaking in a manner that registered disapproval of the scene before us.
"The Queen's soldiers are using their standard Enfield rifles."
"Of course," I muttered. To me a shot was a shot, but such was not the case with my experienced companion.
"The others have Winchester repeating carbines. The twelve-shot model, I'd say, along with some Martini rifles." I just stared at him, amazed that he could deduce so much purely by sound. Then it passed through my mind that Holmes on several occasions had done the same thing relative to handguns.
"My point is, Doctor, that the troops can scarcely risk a rush up the slope towards their concealed adversaries. The Winchesters would chop them to pieces."
There was a heavier boom in the distance, and I surveyed the area of conflict again through the glasses.
"Why doesn't Gray pull his men back? They could regroup and attack from another angle."
Another, louder boom punctuated the sheik's reply. "On top of one of those rocks is an elephant gun. Being long-range, it could make things costly if the British retreated."
"Then they are pinned down."
"And the moonlight is getting brighter every moment, which does not improve the situation."
I peered through the binoculars, my mind desperately searching for inspiration. What would General Sternways have thought if faced with a tactical problem such as this? The General had regaled Holmes and myself with stories of his quite illustrious career on several occasions after the sleuth had recovered his daughter's famous pendant of Ceylonese rubies. It was the geography I viewed that prompted a sudden rush of words.
"Sheik, could we not circle to the south and come upon that hillock from the rear? Whoever is up there is dug in below the crest, and if we charged over it, we'd certainly have them at a disadvantage."
"True," replied the desert chieftain with a quick smile of approval. "But consider, we could have them between two fires but would be exposed to two fires ourselves."
"That can be remedied," I said with confidence. From the side pocket of my jacket I extracted my notebook that was with me always. The pen with which I had written endless prescriptions was, of course, in my handkerchief pocket. "Sheik, could not one of your men make his way upwards to the British with a note? At a signal, Holmes could have the troopers hold their fire as we attack from beyond the hill."
"The cry of the jackal," responded the Arabian promptly. "The gunfire has frightened them from the area, so there is no possibility of an error, and Mahoot is quite good at emulating the sound of the carrion beast."
As he spoke, I scrawled rapidly on a piece of notepaper, trying to summon the words that would explain our plan briefly. The sheik was rattling to one of his men and I caught the name, Holmes, repeated at least four times. The Bedouin dismounted, secured the message from my hands, and darted forward into the open, flitting from boulder to boulder and making use of every furrow cut by primeval floods in the rocky terrain to approach the Sutherland-Argyles undetected. Obviously our messenger was well aware of the menace of the long-range elephant gun and taking suitable precautions. The rest of our party had also dismounted now and were busy affixing pieces of leather to their horses' hooves, securing them with thongs of rawhide. As I vacated my saddle, Mahoot performed that feat for my steed. With a cunning bred of centuries of desert warfare, the Bedouins were muffling the hooves so that our progress over the bedrock of the area would not be revealed by sound. This sensible precaution prompted a sudden thought.
"Sheik," I stammered, indicating towards the soldiers, "your messenger! Will not the troopers mistake him for the enemy?"
"When he is close enough he will call out Holmes's name. Surely that will alert the British that he is friend not foe."
I was reassured. "Holmes will take care of it." Now we remounted and were able to follow the crest that concealed us from the area of hostilities, in a southerly direction and at a good rate. The ground sloped away and kept us under cover as we rode in a half circle to approach, as planned, from the rear. Rifle fire, punctuated at infrequent intervals by the ominous boom of the elephant gun, continued. I imagined that Colonel Gray was keeping the opposition busy, hoping for a cloud over the now-brilliant moon that would allow him to dispatch a man to secure reinforcements and extricate his party from the difficult situation in which they found themselves. Well, Colonel, I thought with some pride, the reinforcements are already on the scene, as you will learn shortly. I noted the riders around me checking their weapons and began to wonder just what I would do in the coming melee and also if this stratagem would work. General Sternways had stated more than once that the effectiveness of a cavalry charge was in part visual. The specter of a wall of horsemen thundering towards a position was enough to strike terror in the stoutest defender's heart. But, he had added, mounted units were highly susceptible to ambush, and a sound knowledge of the terrain was essential. Dear me, all we knew was that we were to charge over a crest of stony outcropping, and what lay beyond this natural fortification and the boulders sheltering the snipers we knew not. At that moment, my morale was at a low ebb.
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire, now quite close, picked up its tempo. The messenger has arrived, I thought. Gray has his men pouring it on to cover our approach and capture the complete attention of the enemy. Had I been truly of the military, I would have considered a commendation for Colonel Gray.
My thoughts were cut short. The moment was upon us.
The sheik and his men were grouped at the base of an incline, and I thanked my stars that we had arrived undetected at our present position. The chieftain and his riders were regarding me quizzically, and suddenly it dawned on me that they were awaiting orders. I was in charge of this mad escapade. A physician, a man of peace, trained to save life and not to take it, was expected to head a group of desert nomads in a quasi-military maneuver in this remote, dried-out valley of death. My heart quailed.