In that first pale light before the dawn, Kali mounted to the topmost roof, where Cameron slept, and waked the Scotchman by gently rubbing his foot after the manner of the East. The Jaalin stood at the foot of Cameron's angereb—slender, erect, with the straight nose and black eyes that belong to desert men. He spoke rapidly, and, although Colonel Spottiswoode could not understand a syllable, it was evident that something unusual had occurred. Cameron's square jaw set firmly; he asked one incisive question, then bounded up. Kali leaned over the edge of the parapet and shouted. Three servants went flying with orders. McDonald understood Arabic imperfectly; he had not served in the Sudan during those murderous years of the Mahdi and Khalifah. He glanced at Lyttleton, while Cameron tersely explained the situation. "Dress; full arms—and quickly!" That was all Lyttleton said. Something had happened which meant a fight. McDonald understood that.
When Colonel Spottiswoode ran downstairs, buckling on his pistols, he found Lyttleton and McDonald unlocking their rifle case.
"Where are the peas?" asked McDonald in a business voice. Cameron pointed to the cartridge boxes, then wheeled upon Spottiswoode.
"Your man is in no end of a stew. Kali reports two hundred tribesmen approaching Beni
