"Ass!" snapped Kit. "Here!—stand so!—the lantern between your feet.
That's right. Now don't stir. Ready, Knapp?"
"On the boil, sir," bobbing and blowing on his fists.
"Then come on."
Kit drew the wheezing bolts, and flung back the door. A chill breeze entered.
Before the boy could stop him, the little rifleman was through the door and away down the drain.
"Come back!" ordered Kit in a fierce whisper.
The man, stooping in the drain, turned and grinned.
"In my Service, sir, Borderers lead."
"In my Service, officers do…. Come back!"
The boy had nothing but his dirk; but that he pointed resolutely; and the lantern-light glimmered in the darkness as on a steel-barrel.