As the Sheik Kadra sprang into his saddle and drew his sword there was a wild whoop and a clatter of waving spears, while the one-ended war-drums burst into a dull crash like a wave upon shingle.  For a moment 10,000 men were up on the rocks with brandished arms and leaping figures; the next they were under cover again, waiting sternly and silently for their chieftain’s orders.  The square was less than half a mile from the ridge now, and shell after shell from the 7 lb. guns were pitching over it.  A deep roar on the right, and then a second one showed that the Egyptian Krupps were in action.  Sheik Kadra’s hawk eyes saw that the shells burst far beyond the mark, and he spurred his horse along to where a knot of mounted chiefs were gathered round the two guns, which were served by their captured crews.

“How is this, Ben Ali?” he cried.  “It was not thus that the dogs fired when it was their own brothers in faith at whom they aimed!”

A chieftain reined his horse back, and thrust a blood-smeared sword into its sheath.  Beside him two Egyptian artillerymen with their throats cut were sobbing out their lives upon the ground.  “Who lays the gun this time?” asked the fierce chief, glaring at the frightened gunners.”  Here, thou black-browed child of Shaitan, aim, and aim for thy life.”

It may have been chance, or it may have been skill, but the third and fourth shells burst over the square.  Sheik Kadra smiled grimly and galloped back to the left, where his spearmen were streaming down into the gully.  As he joined them a deep growling rose from the plain beneath, like the snarling of a sullen wild beast, and a little knot of tribesmen fell into a struggling heap, caught in the blast of lead from a Gardner.  Their comrades pressed on over them, and sprang down into the ravine.  From all along the crest burst the hard, sharp crackle of Remington fire.

The square had slowly advanced, rippling over the low sandhills, and halting every few minutes to re-arrange its formation.  Now, having made sure that there was no force of the enemy in the scrub, it changed its direction, and began to take a line parallel to the Arab position.  It was too steep to assail from the front, and if they moved far enough to the right the general hoped that he might turn it.  On the top of those ruddy hills lay a baronetcy for him, and a few extra hundreds in his pension, and he meant having them both that day.  The Remington fire was annoying, and so were those two Krupp guns; already there were more cacolets full than he cared to see.  But on the whole he thought it better to hold his fire until he had more to aim at than a few hundred of fuzzy heads peeping over a razor-back ridge.  He was a bulky, red-faced man, a fine whist-player, and a soldier who knew his work.  His men believed in him, and he had good reason to believe in them, for he had excellent stuff under him that day.  Being an ardent champion of the short-service system, he took particular care to work with veteran first battalions, and his little force was the compressed essence of an army corps.