"Where?"
The man waved an arm vaguely over the sandy top of the hill.
"Ah! Well, you will leave unburied the next man who dies, be he Job or another—else I shall have the cat administered to all of you who have abandoned your posts without permission."
"'Iss, zur. Thank 'ee, zur," replied the man—but there was no thanks in his snarling voice; his face was masked by the darkness.
"Stap me," said Murray, turning away, "but these rascals are becoming as slack as Flint's tattertails!"
Across the clearing a musket exploded. Then another and another. A volley crackled from the lower slopes, and our men replied. A hoarse yelling underscored the firing.
"At last!"
Murray's voice vibrated with exultation.
"Now we shall scoop the rogues like so many grains of sand. The fools! A night attack is fatal with undisciplined men."
We ran past the blockhouse, where the after-guard were scrambling to their feet and Moira was wringing her hands in the doorway.