The intervals between the flat-topped acacia trees became greater and
the trees themselves were more stunted, more twisted and spiky, as they
progressed, until at last they ceased and the bushes of spino
Cristi replaced them grey and low and viciously thor ned The earth was
parched and crumbled, dotted with clumps of camel grass and the horizon
was unbroken, enclosing them entirely. The land itself was so flat and
featureless that it gave the illusion of being saucer-shaped, as though
the rim of the land rose slightly to meet the sky.
Through this wilderness, the road was slashed like the claw mark of a
predator into the fleshy red soil. The tracks were so deeply rutted
that the middle hump constantly brushed the chassis of the
Rolls, and a mist of fine red dust stood in the heated air long after
the column had passed.
The Colonel was bored and uncomfortable. It was becoming increasingly
clear, even to the Count, that the wilderness harboured no hostile
horde, and his courage and impatience returned.
"Drive to the head of the column," he instructed Giuseppe, and the
Rolls pulled out and sped past the leading trucks, the Count bestowing
a cheery salute on Castelani as he left him glowering and muttering
behind him.
When Castelani caught up with him again, two hours later, the
Count was standing on the burnished bonnet of the Rolls staring through
his binoculars at the horizon and doing an excited little dance while
he urged Gino to make haste in unpacking the special Mantilicher 9.3
men sporting rifle from its leather case. The weapon was of seasoned
walnut, butt and stock, and the blued steel was inlaid with
twenty-four-carat gold hunting scenes of the chase boar and stag,
huntsmen on horseback and hounds in full cry. It was a masterpiece of
the gunsmith's art.
Without lowering the binoculars, he gave orders to Castelani to erect
the radio aerial and send a message of good cheer and enthusiasm to
General De Bono, to report the magnificent progress made by the
battalion to date and assure him that they would soon command all the
approaches to the Sardi Gorge. The Major should also put the column
into laager and set up the ice machine while the Colonel undertook a
reconnaissance patrol in the direction in which he was now staring so
intently.
The group of big dun-coloured animals he was watching were a mile off
and moving steadily away into the mirage-fevered distance, but their
gracefully straight horns showed dark and lo the against the distant
sky.
Gino had the loaded Mannlicher in the rear seat and the Count jumped
down into the passenger seat beside the driver. Standing holding the
windshield with one hand, he gave his officers the Fascist salute, and
the Rolls roared forward, left the road and careered away,
weaving amongst the thorn scrub and bounding over the rough ground in
pursuit of the distant herd.
The beisa oryx is a large and beautiful desert antelope.
There were eight of them in the herd and with their sharp eyesight they
were in flight before the Rolls had approached within three-quarters of
a mile.
They ran lightly over the rough ground, their pale beige hides blending
cunningly with the soft colours of the desert, but the long wicked
black horns rode proudly as any battle standard.
The Rolls gained steadily on the running herd, with the Count
hysterically urging his driver to greater speed, ignoring the thorn
branches that scored the flawless sides of the big blue machine as it
passed. Hunting was one of the Count's many pleasures. Boar and stag
were specially bred on his estates, but this was the first large game
he had encountered since his arrival in Africa. The herd was strung
out, two old bulls leading, plunging ahead with a light rocking-horse
gait, while the cows and two younger males trailed them.
The bouncing, roaring machine drew level with the last animal and ran
alongside at a range of twenty yards. The galloping oryx did not turn
its head but ran on doggedly after its stronger companions.
"Halt," shrieked the Count, and the driver stood on his brakes,
the car broadsiding to rest in a billowing cloud of dust. The Count
tumbled out of the open door and threw up the Mannlicher. The barrel
kicked up and the shots crashed out. The first was a touch high and it
threw a puff of dust off the earth far beyond the running animal the
second slapped into the pale fur in front of the shoulder and the young
oryx somersaulted over its broken neck and went down in a clumsy tangle
of limbs.
"Onwards!" shouted the Count, leaping aboard the Rolls as it roared
away once again. The herd was already far ahead but inexorably the
Rolls closed the gap and at last drew level. Again the ringing crack
of rifle-fire and the sliding, tumbling fall of a heavy pale body.
Like a paper chase, they left the wasteland littered with the pale
bodies until only one old bull ran on alone. And he was cunning,
swinging away westward into the broken ground for which he clearly
headed at the outset of the chase.
It was hours and many miles later when the Count lost all patience. On
