There was nothing you could call a road between the villages, only a rocky cattle-track that seemed to take the longest possible way between two points; and nobody seemed to own it, or to be there to challenge our right of way.
But suddenly, after we had passed the third village and were walking the horses up a shoulder of a steep hill-top, three shots cracked out from in front of us to left and right.

Nobody fell, but if ever there was instantaneous response it happened then.
Anazeh and his four galloped forward up-hill, firing as they rode for the cover of a breast-high ridge.

One man on the off-side tipped me out of the saddle, so suddenly that I had no chance to prevent him; another caught me, and two others flung me into a hole behind a stone.

I heard the rear-guard scatter and run.
Two men pitched Ahmed down on top of me, for he was valuable, seeing he could run an engine; and thirty seconds later I peered out around the rock to get a glimpse of what was happening.
There was not a man in sight.

I could see some of the horses standing under cover.