Cry Wolf

"Forget it," he told himself firmly. "It's their war. Take the money

and run. "Then suddenly he looked across the dimly lit cave to where

Vicky Camberwell sat. She listened to the old Ras with misty eyes, and

her expression was enchanted as she leaned her golden head close to the

dark curly head of Sara Sagud, not wanting to miss a word of the

translation.

Now she saw Jake watching her, and she smiled and nodded vehemently

almost as though she had read his doubts.

"Leave Vicky also?" Jake wondered. "Leave them all and run with the

gold?" He knew that nothing would induce Vicky to leave with them.

For her the story was here, her involvement was complete, and she would

stay to the end the inevitable end.

The smart thing was to go, the dumb thin to stay and fight another

man's war that was already lost before it had begun; the dumb thing was

to stake twenty thousand dollars which was his share of the profits,

and all his future plans, the Barton engine, and the factory to build

it, against the remote chance of wi

lifetime of trouble once she was won.

never was a dab hand at doing the smart thing," Jake thought ruefully,

and smiled back at Vicky.

The Ras was suddenly silent, panting with the force of his feelings and

the effort of voicing them. His listeners were mesmerized also,

staring at the thin-robed figure with its wild lion wig.

The Ras made a commanding gesture and one of his guards handed him the

broad two-handed sword, its blade long and naked. The Ras leaned his

weight upon it and commanded again, and they carried in the war drums.

The Ras's ceremonial drums, passed down to him by his father and his

father before him, drums that had beaten at Magdala against

Napier, at Adowa against the Italians and at a hundred other battles.

They were as tall as a man's shoulder, elaborately carved of hardwood

and covered with rawhide, and the drummers took up their stance with

the barrels of their drums held between their knees.

The drum with the deepest bass tone set the rhythm and the lesser drums

joined in with the variations and counterpoints, a chorus that arred a

man's gut and loosened his brain in his skull.

The old Ras listened to it with his head bowed over the sword,

until the rhythm took a hold on him and his shoulders began to jerk and

his head came up. With a leap like a white bird taking flight, he

landed in the open space before the drummers. The great sword whirled

high above his head, and he began to dance.

Gareth took Mikhael Sagud by the sleeve and lifted his voice in

competition with the drums, and resumed at the point where he had been

interrupted.

"Toffee, you were telling me about the money." Jake heard him and

leaned across to catch the Prince's reply, but the Prince was silent,

watching his father leap and twirl in the intricate and acrobatic

dance.

"We have delivered the goods, old chap. And a deal is a deal."

"fifteen thousand sovereigns," said the Prince thoughtfully.

"That's the exact figure, "Gareth agreed.

"A dangerous sum of money," murmured the PPrince.

"Men have been killed for much less." And they made no reply.

"I think of your safety, of course," the Prince went on.

"Your safety, and my country's chances of survival. Without an

engineer to maintain the cars, and a soldier to teach my men to use the

new weapons we will have wasted fifteen thousand sovereigns."

"I feel very badly for you," Gareth assured him. "I'll eat my heart

out for you while I am having di

but truly, Toffee, you should have thought of this long ago."

"Oh, I did my dear Swales I assure you I gave it much thought." And

the Prince turned to smile at Gareth. "I thought that no one would be

foolish enough to take on his person fifteen thousand gold sovereigns

in the middle of Ethiopia and then try and get out of the country

without the Ras's personal approval and protection." They stared at

him.

"Can you imagine the delight of the shifta, the mountain bandits,

when they learned that such a rich prize was moving unprotected through

their territory?"

"They would know, of course?" murmured Jake.

"I fear that they might be informed." The Prince turned to him.

"And if we tried to go back the way we came?"

"Through the desert on foot?" the Prince smiled.

"We might use a little of the gold to buy camels," Jake suggested.

"I fancy you might find camels hard to come by, and somebody might

inform the Italians and the French of your movements to say nothing of

the Danakil tribesmen who would slit the throats of their own mothers

for a single gold sovereign." They watched the Ras send the great

sword humming six inches over the heads of the bass drummers, and then

turn a grotesque flapping pirouette.

"God!" said Gareth. "I took you at your word, Toffee. I mean word of

honour, and old school-"

"My dear Swales, these are not the playing fields of Eton, I'm

afraid."

"Still, I never thought you'd welsh."

"Oh, dear me, I am not welshing. You can have your money now this very

hour."

"All right, Prince," Jake interrupted. "Tell us what more you want

from us. Tell us, is there any way we get out of here with a safe

conduct, and our money?" The Prince smiled warmly at Jake,

leaning to pat his arm.

"Always the pragmatist. No time wasted in tearing the hair or beating

the breast, Mr. Barton."

"Shoot," said Jake.

"My father and I would be very grateful if you would work for us for a

six-month contract."

"Why six months? "demanded Gareth.

"By then all will be lost, or won."

"Go on, "Jake invited.

"For six months you will exercise your skills for us and teach us how

best to defend ourselves against a modern army. Service,

maintain and command the armoured cars."

"In return? "Jake asked.

"A princely salary for the six months, a safe conduct out of

Ethiopia, and your money guaranteed by a London bank at the end of that

time."

"What is fair wages for putting one's head on the butcher's block?

"Gareth asked bitterly.

"Double another seven thousand pounds each, "said the Prince without

hesitation, and the men on each side of him relaxed slightly and

exchanged glances.

"Each?" asked Gareth.

"Each,"agreed Lij Mikhael.

"I only wish I had my lawyer here to draw up the contract," said

Gareth.

, "Not necessary," Mikhael laughed, and shook his head and drew two

envelopes from his robes. He handed one to each of them.

"Bank-guaranteed cheques. Lloyds of London. Irrev(.)cable, I

assure you but post-dated six months ahead. Valid on the first of

February next year." The two white men examined the documents

curiously.

Carefully Jake checked the date on the bank draft 1st February,

1936 and then read the figure fourteen thousand pounds sterling only

and he gri

"The exact amount the precise date." He shook his head admiringly.

"You had it all figured out. Man, you were thinking weeks ahead of