Part 34 (2/2)
”I thought of that,” said West quickly; ”but I dared not, for fear of missing our wagon. So I walked boldly on, and almost ran against a Boer.”
”Tut-tut-tut! Did he stop you?”
”No: he just said: 'Mind where you are coming!' and pa.s.sed on.”
”Well?” said Ingleborough.
”That's all. I marched along to the wagon here and stood the rifles up before venturing to get in, for I fancied that you were talking in your sleep and would bring the sentry upon us. There, I've got the arms, and I don't want such another job as that.”
”Pooh! Nonsense, lad! The game has only just begun! You ought to feel encouraged, for you have learned and taught me how easy the rest of our job will be! Just a little cool pluck, and we shall succeed!”
”Very well!” said West. ”I'm ready! What next?”
”We must lie down and wait till we hear the commando on the stir, and then--”
”Yes,” said West softly; ”and then?”
”Let's wait and see!”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
EVERYTHING COMES TO THE MAN WHO WAITS.
What seemed like a couple of the weariest hours they had ever pa.s.sed went slowly by, with everything quite still in the laager; and at last West, who was lying on his back, side by side with his companion, whispered: ”They're not going on patrol to-night. We must creep out and escape on foot.”
”Without knowing the way through the entrance among the rocks, and with dozens of sentries about? Can't be done!”
”Pst!” whispered West, for his quick hearing had detected the approach of someone, and directly after a light was flashed in under the tilt, a little whispering followed after the dull rays were shut off, and once more there was silence.
The pair lay a good five minutes without attempting to move or speak, and then West whispered:
”Two sentries.”
”No: one and Fathead.”
”How do you know? I daren't look, for fear they should see the gleam of my eyes.”
”I could smell him.”
”Scented--out here?”
”Yes; I believe he'd put some scent on his handkerchief and some pomatum on his hair even if he were going to be shot.”
”Hist! Listen,” said West quickly; ”they're on the stir.”
Ingleborough started up, for a voice was heard giving an order, and it was as if a stick had suddenly been thrust into a beehive and stirred round.
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